A Legacy of Strength
by PadmeKSkywalker
Summary: After Obi Wan's death, 19 year old Anakin Skywalker struggles to rediscover his place in a dangerous universe—but as that universe is threatened by dark powers, Anakin must find a new role for himself amidst politics, friends, and his career as a Jedi.
1. Unnecessarily Paranoid

**Author's Note: Just one thing you should know... Deciding that at some point in his life, Anakin must necessarily mature, I tweaked the storyline a bit so Ferus Olin and he become good friends sometime in their late teen years. Also, Padme Amidala has mysteriously disappeared from the universe for the time being, so don't go looking for her in this story, because you won't find her. Chapters might be a little slow in coming, but I shall do my best. --PKSkywalker**

* * *

The galaxy was in a state of turmoil. Karan Toi, unquestionably the most dangerous assassin ever to set foot on a planet, had recently escaped from Galactic Prison, where he had been held under highest security. The citizens of Coruscant especially were terrified that each one of them was Toi's next target. The level of unrest was getting out of control, the Jedi Council decided, so they selected two of their most accomplished Master-Padawan teams to recapture Toi. These four brave warriors accepted willingly, though they knew the danger into which they put themselves—for after all, not a single one of Toi's targets had ever lived a day beyond his promised end for them.

They tracked the assassin to a large city on Tatooine known as Mos Osel. There, the Jedi lost the trail, and were forced to wait in hiding, emerging into the streets only at night. Should Toi discover where they were before the opposite happened, their lives would end as swiftly as the squashing of a myrmin—and each one of them knew it. It was an ever-present, haunting knowledge that seemed to taint even the air around them. Not a one of them doubted the seriousness of their position.

* * *

"Got any…fours?" 

Anakin swore under his breath and tossed two chips in Ferus's direction. His friend slipped them into his hand with a grin and asked again.

"Got any Sith?"

With a cry of frustration, Anakin slammed his chips down onto the floor. "You're cheating!" he accused Ferus angrily. "You have got to be cheating, there's no _way_ you're that good!"

"Anakin, anger leads to the Dark Side," Obi-Wan reminded his Padawan from the window, without any real conviction. He didn't even bother to turn around as he said it.

"Yeah, well, tell that to Mister Straight-and-Narrow over here," Anakin grumbled over his shoulder. "Everyone's always talking about him; no one ever mentions that he _cheats at chips!_"

"I don't cheat," protested Ferus mildly, obviously enjoying Anakin's intense aggravation. "I merely remember what you've already asked me for and what you've gotten from me, and from there it's usually quite easy to think of what you might be holding in your hand."

Anakin did not appreciate this explanation. "Whatever, Ferus," he muttered. "I still say you're checking my chips."

With a mock sigh, Ferus gathered up the loose chips with a wave of his hand and neatly stacked them back in their box. "You'll never be a Master if you can't learn to accept defeat," he told Anakin sagely. "I'm sure Master Yoda has been beaten several times."

"Yeah, _fairly_." Anakin rose from his seat on the floor and walked over to Obi-Wan, leaning against the inside of the open windowsill with him. They were on the second story of this building, and below them he could hear the shouts and clatter of the afternoon traffic. The noise was welcomed—he had quite finished talking to Ferus. "Has Siri come back yet?"

"Not yet," Obi-Wan answered. Behind him, Anakin heard Ferus's sigh, and knew it was genuine this time.

"I wish she wouldn't go out so much during the day," Ferus fretted, sitting down on his bed. He and Anakin shared this room at night, but in daylight it was open to all. "The way she's dressed—anyone with half a brain could see who she is."

Obi-Wan turned away from the sill and touched Ferus's shoulder. "Siri's not stupid, Ferus," he said in a comforting tone. "She'll be back soon, I'm sure."

Ferus said nothing, only made a noncommittal noise and turned away from Obi-Wan's hand. Anakin supposed he couldn't blame him for being worried, although he'd like to—if it were Obi-Wan out there, he would be just as frightened for his Master's safety.

But suddenly, as though reading his thoughts, Obi-Wan stood. "If it makes you feel better," he told Ferus, "I'll go out and look for her, and bring her back. Siri does have a habit of staying out longer than she should."

Anakin's stomach lurched, and a smile broke over Ferus's face. "Thank you, Master Kenobi," he said sincerely. Obi-Wan left the room, and in a few moments, Anakin saw him exit the building from his perch at the window. He watched his Master walk away until he was out of sight, lost among the many speeders and nuuku driven along the road. Suddenly the rough stone walls of the little room seemed much closer to each other.

"This is stupid," said Anakin suddenly, practically spitting out the words. "We're not going to find anyone like this, hiding all day! For all we know, Toi could be half across the galaxy already."

"It's all we can do," Ferus reminded his friend patiently. "And you know that's not true; Poika would have told us if a transport had left the planet." Poika owned and ran the bar that occupied the first floor of this building, and Ferus was correct in saying that she would have informed them of any departing transports. Anakin had established her alliance on the day of their arrival, sensing that it would come in handy, and he had not been wrong. Poika had already given them several useful leads, though they had all run out by the time the Jedi managed to follow them. At least three-quarters of all her patrons were pilots, and if a transport left Tatooine, which was rather rare, she would have known about it within an hour.

Anakin's only response was a somewhat whiny, "Well, still…" at which point he couldn't think of anything else to say and simply left it at that. When it all came down, he would have much preferred Siri to be in danger than Obi-Wan. With nothing better to do, he moved to the open space in-between the two beds and began practicing katas. He could have moved to another room, as this one did not allow much room for wide kicks and the like, but right now he needed to be around another human being, and Ferus was the only one available.

"Where'd Siri go again?" he asked between katas. Ferus looked up at the ceiling.

"She said she was going to get some food, but we've got plenty of that. I think she just wanted to get out; she hates being cooped up inside."

"It's not safe," Anakin grumbled. "She could ruin everything for us."

"Don't you think I know that?" Ferus snapped abruptly. Two bright spots of red had appeared in his cheeks. "You don't think I know that she could be out there right now, telling Toi exactly where we are because he's torturing the life out of her?"

Anakin, stunned by his friend's vehement response, stopped practicing and sat at Ferus's side.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean that," he said quietly. "I just get worried—I don't like Obi-Wan being out there either."

Ferus managed a grin. "So we're both unnecessarily paranoid."

"Guess so," Anakin admitted sheepishly, flopping onto his back. "I mean, they're both experienced Knights. We should probably be more worried about ourselves."

It was at least an hour, spent in meaningless conversation, before they heard the door open. Immediately the two Padawans were on their feet with an insensible gladness. No matter how they tried to convince themselves that there was nothing to worry about, both wanted their Masters right where they could keep an eye on them, as though Anakin was Obi-Wan's guardian and Ferus Siri's, and not the other way round.

They stepped out into the kitchen and saw Siri unloading a couple bags of fruit onto the table.

"Hey, you two," she greeted them, in the informal manner so typical of her. Her straight blond hair, recently grown out long, had been tied into a sensible bun at the back of her head, and her features looked merely normal and faintly pretty—without the Jedi cloak and tunics, she would have looked like any ordinary woman out for a day of shopping. "Do you have any idea how hard it is to get pallies at a decent price? I practically had to threaten the vendor to get anywhere near a fair deal."

Ferus grinned, relief written all over his face. "You sound like a housewife, Master," he teased her. "Thinking of leaving me and getting married?"

"Maybe," Siri said, with what sounded like complete seriousness. She tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear and tossed two pallies in Ferus and Anakin's respective directions. "Eat up."

Ferus bit into his fruit immediately—Anakin ignored his. "Where's Obi-Wan?" he asked.

Siri looked up at him and frowned. "How should I know?" she asked. "Wasn't he back here with you?"

"He _was_," Anakin said, a slow sense of dread creeping up into his stomach. It was beginning to sound like the classic "well-he's-not-with-me-I-thought-he-was-with-you" conversation, and he didn't like that at all. "He went to go look for you."

"How long ago?" Siri finished taking the various fruits from their individual bags and shoved all them into one, which she put in the middle of the table.

"An hour," replied Anakin, with stony finality. Siri did not look as concerned as he had thought she would be, and that reassured him slightly. If Siri wasn't worried, maybe he didn't need to be, either. She only shrugged.

"He's probably still looking for me," she said, smiling. "Obi-Wan's not completely stupid, Anakin; he knows enough not to get caught."

The confident tone in her words, as well as the 'completely' that Siri had added to Obi-Wan's earlier statement, made Anakin smile. He took a bite of the pallie and felt its sweet juices fill his mouth. In this spirit, he made a promise to himself that he would_ not_ worry, that he would _not_ check the window every few moments, and he would most certainly not go out looking for Obi-Wan.

* * *

Three hours later, dusk was falling—Anakin had broken all but the last clause of his vow, and that only because Siri and Ferus wouldn't let him go anywhere. Not only was he worrying, Anakin had begun to panic. Though he hadn't said a word to his friends about it, his terror was almost palpable, radiating easily out for them to feel. 

Ferus found him standing at the window, chin propped up on his fists on the windowsill as he stared tirelessly out into the ever-growing darkness, hoping to see Obi-Wan's shadowy form among the dozens of others. The only light in the room came from the lights outside on the street.

"Anakin…" Ferus began softly, but there was nothing to say, and his voice faded into empty silence. 'He'll come back soon' was obsolete—they'd already tried that several times today, and "soon" always came and went, with no sign of Anakin's Master.

"What if he doesn't come back?" asked Anakin in a small voice, not moving from his watchful pose.

"He will!" Ferus said fiercely. "Obi-Wan wouldn't want you to worry like this, you know that."

"Something is wrong, Ferus," Anakin whispered. "That's what I know."

With a sigh, Ferus turned away. Then a sound from behind stopped him in his tracks, a loud cry that seemed almost inhuman. He whirled, to see Anakin on his knees, gazing wide-eyed at something before him that Ferus could not see.

"Anakin!" Ferus cried, rushing to his friend's side. Anakin's mouth was open in horror.

"I can feel it," he breathed hoarsely; his hands touched the sides of his neck. "I can feel you, Master…"

A tremendous shudder ran through his body, and a scream tore from Anakin's lips, and then he fell to the floor. Ferus felt as though he had been hit in the stomach as a cold wave slapped over him through the Force, and Siri ran into the room.

"Oh, Force," she gasped when she saw Anakin; her hand flying up to cover her mouth. "No, it can't be, it's true…"

Ferus was trembling violently. "What's happening?" he demanded shakily, looking from Siri to Anakin's prostrate form, and then back again. Siri slowly lowered her hand; her face was white.

"Obi-Wan is dead," she pronounced simply.


	2. The Cursed One

For a few blessed moments after he awoke, Anakin simply lay there with his eyes shut, not remembering a thing. He savored these moments without knowing the reason why, for in the back of his mind he knew that something terrible had happened, something so hellish that it was impossible to believe.

With a great effort, he opened his eyes and looked blearily at the wall. He was lying on his side in his bed, which confused Anakin for a moment because he thought he remembered falling asleep on the ground; then he realized it must have been a dream. He thought about getting up, but decided it was too much trouble, and_ Obi-Wan was dead._

As soon as the memory awakened, Anakin froze. He did not move for a long time, only closed his eyes and felt pain thudding through him.

_Dead…dead…dead…_ The word came with every beat of his heart. He did not cry; the grief he felt was far beyond tears. There were no words in his head, only sorrow. Every muscle in his body cried out for Obi-Wan, and every inch of him was denied.

After a time, Anakin fuzzily felt someone enter the room from behind him. His connection to the Force was no longer painfully, perfectly clear, as it had been the night before. Now it was confused and dull, mirroring the state of his mind.

"Anakin?" he heard Ferus say in a low voice, almost timidly. "Are you all right?" Anakin did not look at him.

"Go away, Ferus," he murmured, in what was almost a whisper. "Please." As abruptly as it had come, Anakin felt Ferus's Force-presence fade blurrily out of the room. A sob hitched in his throat, and he pressed his face into his pillow. _Do not think, do not think, do not think,_ because if he didn't think about it, then it would go away and he could breathe again. But he could no sooner stop the suns above them from setting than he could stop thinking about what he had lost. So instead of ignoring his pain, Anakin immersed himself in it, as though he could force the sickness he felt to peak and then die away. He wallowed in it, drowning himself in its murky depths, and praying that when he emerged, he would feel no more.

* * *

Anakin remained alone in the room over the next several days; Ferus attempted to talk to him three more times, and Siri once. Neither got any result, and they were forced to abandon the effort to reach him, as the search for Toi had to continue, if only at night. Ferus would have thought that Anakin's sense of vengeance would compel him to join the hunt for his Master's murderer, but Obi-Wan's death seemed to have drained Anakin of all the will he possessed. On the morning afterward, Ferus had placed a plate with a few fruits on it at Anakin's door—he had relinquished the room, and now slept with Siri—but at least four days passed, and as far as Ferus could tell, the plate had not been touched.

It was on the fifth night after Obi-Wan's death that Ferus finally found a lead that was not already cold, from a beggar on the side of the road. It led him and Siri to a warehouse, ostensibly deserted long ago, and there he and his Master managed to round up Toi's entire gang—with the exception of the leader himself. Somehow, Toi had managed to escape Republic justice once again. Ferus questioned Toi's underlings furiously, but none of them knew what had happened to the lone Jedi that Toi had brought in one night, gagged and bound hand and foot.

Siri contacted the Temple, explained the events of the past week, and requested permission to return to Coruscant immediately, despite the fact that they had not managed to complete the mission as well as had been hoped. The Council agreed—many of their number had felt Obi-Wan's disappearance as well—and Ferus was given the task of telling Anakin it was time to go.

He approached Anakin's door tentatively and knocked thrice. As he did so, Ferus looked down and saw, to his surprise, that the tray was empty. Then the door opened.

Anakin was standing by the window, leaning on the sill, as though he were still waiting to see Obi-Wan walk down the road. Ferus moved to stand behind him and gently placed a hand on his shoulder.

"How are you?" he asked quietly. Anakin did not move for a moment, his eyes on the road, then slowly he turned his head to look at Ferus. A ghost of a smile graced his face.

"I'm fine," he said, but the words hung heavily in the air when he spoke. There was something about him, something that had changed; Ferus could see it in his eyes. A part of him had been taken away, or perhaps something was there that had not been before. Whoever lived inside this body now, it was not the reckless, fun-loving Padawan that Ferus had known all his life, and this terrific realization prompted Ferus's next words.

"Are you sure?"

Anakin gave him a look. "Of course," he said. "I'm all right now. But…" His voice trailed off suddenly, as though he felt he had said too much. Ferus had no idea what he had been about to say, and then abruptly Anakin spoke again, the subject changed. "You and Siri caught them."

Ferus nodded. "We're leaving tomorrow, with the gang members in custody," he said hesitantly. He was walking on eggshells, afraid to say anything that would set Anakin off again. "We—we didn't catch Toi."

He had been worried that this would have adversely affected Anakin somehow, but his friend only gave a short nod. "I know," he said. Even those simple words sounded as though there could be several hidden meanings behind them. Feeling that there was nothing more to say, Ferus left the room.

Siri was waiting for him in the kitchen. Her face was tired and drawn—though she had not felt the loss nearly as keenly as Anakin, Obi-Wan had been one of her dearest friends. Ferus felt almost left out in being able to remember only Obi-Wan as a respected superior.

"How is he doing?" she asked. Ferus swallowed.

"I don't know," he answered honestly. "He ate, I think. That's something."

Siri gave a sigh and ran a hand through her tousled hair. "I'm worried about him," she said bluntly. "Force, I wouldn't have been surprised if he'd dropped dead right when Obi-Wan did, the way those two bonded…"

Ferus thought back to Anakin's face, and looking into those blue eyes. Their depth had shocked him; Ferus somehow felt, quite certainly, that if you dared to look into them long enough, they would drag you down and drown you in an eternity of buried despair.

"He'll live," Ferus said slowly, choosing his words carefully. "But I don't think he will ever be the same."

* * *

The next day, the three Jedi took what few things they had and left Tatooine, with several gang members locked in the hold of the ship. Rather than isolate himself over the five-day period of travel, Anakin spoke several times to Ferus and Siri and ate meals with them. When he was not with them, however, he could inevitably be found in his quarters, meditating or practicing lightsaber technique until the sweat beaded his forehead. Where before he had enjoyed, on occasion, simply lying back and relaxing, now he found that this left too much time for his mind to wander. Inevitably it wandered back to the same place, so Anakin forced himself to keep busy no matter what. Thus, it was practically inevitable that when Siri brought up the subject of the prisoners only a few hours after taking off, Anakin volunteered to feed them.

For the first two days, this arrangement worked out well enough: armed with enough protein cubes for thirteen hungry thugs, Anakin unlocked the door of the brig and handed the food to the new self-styled leader of the gang. On the second day, Anakin dared to mention Obi-Wan, but he found out nothing more than had Ferus. He left angrily, hating himself for weakening.

Had Anakin considered his circumstances before they had actually happened, he would have said that to sleep would be an escape. Now he knew better; every minute he slept was one minute more in which he had no control over his thoughts. His dreams were fitful and restless, even worse than when he was awake, so Anakin was always the last one to sleep and the first one awake in the morning. Siri, knowing nothing of this, was surprised to find him sitting in the ship's galley in the very early hours of the third day.

"What are you doing here?" she blurted out, tactless as usual. Anakin only looked faintly amused.

"I could ask you the same thing, I suppose," he said, looking down at his glass of water and running a finger around the rim. "By Coruscant Standard Time, it's only five."

"Hyperspace always messes with my body's sense of time," Siri explained, clutching the two sides of her bathrobe tighter as she sat down. "What's your excuse?" The typical response had come automatically, without thinking—Siri could have bitten her tongue off, and almost tried.

"Oh, Anakin, I'm so sorry—" she began miserably, but Anakin shook his head. He dismissed her atrocious mistake with a quiet, "Never mind", and the room sank back into silence. Anakin was obviously not in a mood for conversation, and Siri was too afraid of saying something else stupid.

Then abruptly, Anakin spoke, his eyes on his lap. "What—" He stopped and took a breath. "What did you feel when it happened?"

Siri looked at him sharply, but Anakin kept his gaze firmly downward. She spoke carefully.

"I felt like someone had hit me over the head, stunned me—and then I felt the bond snap." The fingers of her right hand gently touched the side of her head. "It hurt…terribly. I didn't understand what it was, but I thought that if something had happened to him—" no one had dared to speak Obi-Wan's name since the hour of his death "—you would feel it far more powerfully than I could. I ran into your room to see, but you had already fainted, and I knew." Imbued with a sudden courage, she asked a question of her own. "What about you?"

Anakin had evidently not been expecting this. Taken by surprise, his head jerked up, and Siri was stricken with the same impression as Ferus: it was death to look into those eyes for too long. At first, she didn't even think he would answer. When he finally spoke, his voice was low and quiet.

"There was a jolt—I thought for a moment that the earth had moved under me—and then it was almost as if I _was_ him. I could see people. People that—weren't there, I could see their shapes moving around in front of me, but dimly. And then I heard this voice coming from above me—it was saying something cruel, I knew it was, even though I couldn't make out the words. And then I felt something wrap around my neck, something cold, but it wasn't me that was feeling anything, it was all him—and then it broke."

Anakin's hand on the table was trembling. "You were right," he said after a pause. "It did hurt. It was only for a second, but I—I thought I'd die from the pain. It's like—when it breaks, it breaks right in your face."

That, thought Siri, was a very apt way of putting it.

Anakin had obviously not intended to say so much. Discomfited, he looked around the room, as though searching for a distraction, then stood abruptly.

"I should go," he mumbled. "To the hold…I should give them their food…"

Siri thought it best not to mention her doubts that any of the gang members would even be awake by now. Instead, she only smiled at him as he took the protein cubes and left. Her mind, however, was otherwise occupied.

She had once heard Master Yoda say that grief was a natural part of life; if one did not grieve or show any emotions at all, the pain that one felt, instead of secreting outward, would seep inside and poison a person's soul. If Anakin could behave so calmly, Siri wondered, what had happened to his heart?

* * *

The old Anakin would have dawdled a bit, idly tossed the protein cubes from one hand to the other, made a game of his chore. Now, though, the pointlessness of such frivolities seemed to be pressing itself on Anakin's consciousness. After Obi-Wan's death, it felt as though three-quarters of his brain had simply fallen asleep. Everything that served no purpose had simply died away. He had a task, and he would complete it, and that was that.

Anakin punched in the locking code to the hold door slowly, fully aware that it was far too early for this and that probably no one on the opposite side of this door was even awake. But he'd made his excuse, and now he had to live up to it.

As he'd suspected, the various prisoners were now scattered around the large floor, sleeping like children. Anakin turned around to relock the door—just in case—and then from behind, he heard a man's voice call out loudly, "Get him!"

It took a moment before his brain registered the meaning of these words. In that instant, several of the gangsters rushed him, their expressions ugly and purposeful. Taken unawares, two managed to tackle him and bring him crashing to the floor. One was sitting on his shoulders, but before they could pin his arms, Anakin's fist shot up and smashed into the gangster's jaw. The man's eyes rolled back in his head, and he fell backwards, allowing Anakin to scramble to his feet.

There were twelve of them now, surrounding him with obviously dangerous intents, and no sooner had Anakin managed to stand than they all charged him as one. A spark of rage lit itself suddenly in Anakin's mind, battle rage mixed with something more deadly. Suddenly furious, Anakin kicked out at the nearest gangster—he stumbled and fell backward, but it wasn't enough. Anakin wanted him to die, he wanted them all to die, so he fumbled quickly for his lightsaber, and as soon as the deadly blade shot out of its hilt it had swung right through the belly of a third man. Such was the force of the blow that the prisoner was sliced in two.

The gangsters faltered for a moment, seeing the weapon in Anakin's hand, but apparently deciding that there was strength in numbers, they charged again as one. Anakin's blade was everywhere at once, striking down foes as quickly as he could see them. They were like vermin, trying to defeat him with only their hands and feet, but Anakin held the power. They fell, one by one, and Anakin would have laughed at the sight had he not been so angry.

Suddenly it was over. Five gangsters stood backed against the wall, their gazes fixed on the Jedi with the laser sword and the flaming eyes. Anakin was panting for breath, but he had not finished with them yet. With a cry of fury, he shot a burning wave of the Force at the nearest gangster, and saw the man's feet lift off the ground. The prisoner gasped for breath, clawing at his throat. None of the other gang members moved a muscle; the expression on Anakin's face was so terrible to behold that they were frozen in place. The man's body went limp, and then fell to the ground.

As though waking up after a long sleep, Anakin suddenly found that he was trembling uncontrollably. He tried to replace the lightsaber on his belt and missed the loop, tried again and managed it. No matter how he gulped, he couldn't seem to fill his lungs with enough air. Shaken, he left the hold, completely forgetting to relock the door. However, it seemed likely enough that the remaining gangsters would be quite well-behaved after that incident.

Anakin walked swiftly to his room and threw himself facedown on the sleep couch. He should have seen this coming, for that had certainly not been the living Force that he had used to strangle a man. For not the first time in his life, Anakin had felt that insatiable blood-lust sweep over him, dangerous and powerful, and he knew its source. Before, Obi-Wan had always been there to protect him from the ravages of the Dark Side—but now Obi-Wan was gone, and Anakin was left defenseless against the force that had threatened him since the day of his birth. And now the Dark Side had come to claim him.

_Anakin Skywalker,_ his mind reminded him bitterly. _The Chosen One, they call you. You are not chosen—you have been cursed._

"The Cursed One," Anakin whispered aloud, trying its sound on his tongue. Somehow, it seemed to fit better than "The Chosen One" ever had.


	3. Inevitable Changes

Anakin did not mention the incident in the hold once to either Siri or Ferus. He correctly assumed they knew about it, but he was loath to speak of it, so he was immensely grateful that they chose to hold their silence as well. In actuality, the Master and Padawan had furiously debated the point for quite some time, Siri believing that they should confront him and Ferus insisting that they should say nothing. To what would have been Anakin's great relief, had he known of the argument, Ferus won out in the end and took over Anakin's chore of feeding the remaining prisoners.

When they reached the Temple docking bay, Anakin was the last one out. The last thing he wanted was dozens of friends coming up to him in the hallways, oozing sympathy and remorse for his loss, touching him on the shoulder and saying that they would always be there for him. There was no help for it, of course—delaying his exit could only last a few minutes. With heavy steps, Anakin followed Siri and Ferus out into the bright sunlight.

Numerous Jedi milled around the docking bays, but only one seemed to be waiting for them: a young boy of about twelve, standing next to one of the pillars. Anakin had spoken with him a couple times, but somehow couldn't remember his name.

"Master Tachi," the boy said as they approached, bowing clumsily. "Padawan Olin, Padawan Skywalker—the Council wishes to see you immediately in their Chamber."

Anakin felt Siri look at him, but refused to meet her gaze.

"Thank you, Morel," Siri said to the boy. "We will be there shortly."

Morel bowed again and ran off. Siri turned to the two Padawans, as though inspecting them. Ferus was unconsciously straightening his tunic—Anakin watched a party of Jedi walk by with a disproportionate amount of interest.

"Anakin," Siri said gently. Reluctantly, Anakin turned to look at her. "The Council will wish to speak to you about him. If there is something you don't want to talk about, they will understand."

He nodded, disliking the topic immensely, and with a sigh Siri led the way through the Jedi Temple until they reached the Council Chamber. The doors slid open at their approach, and Anakin saw, like twelve condemning demigods, the members of the Council.

The three Jedi moved to the center of the room and bowed—Yoda was the first to speak.

"Unfortunate, it is, that unable, you were, to recapture Karan Toi."

Siri nodded. "My apologies, Master Yoda," she said. "Toi was very clever. However, we did manage to arrest several of his counterparts."

A murmur of approval swept across the room. "They should be delivered to Galactic Prison as soon as possible," commented Master Fisto. "Despite this failing, you are to be commended for the job done."

"Thank you, Master," Siri said, inclining her head. From the right, Master Windu spoke suddenly.

"We would like to speak with Anakin alone, if that is all right with him."

Ferus shot an inquisitive glance at his friend, and Anakin shrugged a shoulder. Bowing again, Siri and Ferus departed, leaving Anakin alone to face the Council. It was not a fate either of them envied.

For a few moments after they left, the room was in silence. Anakin could feel their eyes upon him, coldly scrutinizing him, trying to figure out what to do with him now that he had no Master. Anakin sensed their uncertainty, and felt a twinge of fear.

"Anakin, the Council was extremely saddened to hear of your loss," Windu said finally. "Master Kenobi was a great and respected Jedi Knight, and we know how much he meant to you. Rest assured, he will be greatly missed."

_Obi-Wan,_ Anakin thought desperately. He kept his gaze fixed determinedly on a patch of sunlight that fell across the floor, and watched the dust fly about in it, twinkling cheerfully. But the Council seemed to be waiting for him to speak.

"Thank you," Anakin managed quietly, not taking his eyes from the sunbeam on the ground.

"As Master Kenobi was in charge of your training," Windu continued, "the Council has not been privy to several details. However, since you were nearing the end of your apprenticeship in any case, it would be entirely possible for you to take the Trials this year."

So shocked was Anakin that he completely forgot about the sunbeam and stared at Master Windu. Force, how many millions of times had he fought about that very subject with Obi-Wan? It had seemed all-important then—now, Anakin could not have cared less.

"I—" he began, at a loss. "My Master felt that I was unready to become a Knight."

Windu nodded slowly. "You must make the decision for yourself, Anakin," he said. It suddenly occurred to Anakin that this was the first time he had ever heard Master Windu use his first name in conversation. "Now that Obi-Wan is no longer here to do it for you."

Anakin felt as though he had been hit in the gut. He swallowed hard. "I will—" he tried again. His voice shook and cracked. "I will think about it, Master Windu."

"That is all we ask."

Anakin did not know whether he had been formally dismissed or not, but he could not have borne another minute in that room for all the spice on Kessel. With as quick a bow as he could manage, Anakin turned on his heel and practically ran out of there. Thank the Force, Siri and Ferus had gone elsewhere, and no one stopped him as he ran up to his room.

As soon as he walked in, the familiarity of it all struck him. Everything was as he had left it—even the datapad he had been reading still lay there on the bed, waiting for him to return. Obi-Wan was gone, and yet somehow everything was normal.

Weakly, Anakin sank to his knees beside the sleep couch—all the strength seemed to have gone from his limbs, and he could barely stand. His shoulders shook, but one could hardly say he was crying, for there were no tears. He wanted to remember the things that he and Obi-Wan had done, the bond they had formed, the tears and the laughter—and stupidly, all he could think about was when Obi-Wan had moved from the window to touch Ferus's shoulder, and Anakin thought furiously that that touch should have belonged to him.

A knock on the door startled him out of what could only be called hysterics. His eyes were not red; there was nothing to betray his emotions to his visitor. Anakin took a shaking breath to steady himself, then stood and opened the door with a wave of his hand. Master Windu stood outside in the hall.

"May I come in?" he asked.

Stunned, it was a moment before Anakin's brain gave him the okay to nod and step aside so Windu could enter. The Jedi Master did not waste any time—he sat down in a chair opposite Anakin's sleep couch and motioned for Anakin to take a seat as well.

"Master Windu, what are you doing here?" Anakin asked bluntly. He was in no mood for pretenses. What might have almost been a smile flitted across Windu's face.

"Anakin," he said quietly, "As well as being a great Jedi Knight, Master Kenobi was one of my closest friends."

All Anakin could think was that he couldn't believe Master Windu even _had_ friends.

"I wanted to express my condolences privately," Windu continued in explanation. "As well as talk to you about your options."

Anakin swallowed hard. "Master Windu," he said hesitantly, "first I—there is something I have to tell you."

Windu leaned forward slightly in his chair, the only indication he would give that Anakin had his full attention. Anakin took a breath—at least it wasn't Master Yoda, he thought miserably—and plunged.

"When we left Tatooine, we'd captured thirteen gang members. Siri and Ferus are only taking four to Galactic Prison." He tried to turn his face away from Windu's stern gaze, but no matter how he tried he could feel the Master's eyes upon him. "The rest are dead. I killed them."

A long sigh escaped Windu's throat. "I sensed guilt upon you, but I had supposed it came from Obi-Wan's death," he said. "This is a dangerous trend, Anakin—first the Tuskens, now this."

"It wasn't like that!" Anakin burst out angrily, but even as the words left his mouth he realized they were untrue. "I mean…they attacked me."

"Truly?" Windu asked skeptically.

It hit Anakin suddenly that if this was how the Council saw him, no wonder they did not trust him. He had hundreds of missions under his belt, showed great aptitude with the Force and with a lightsaber, but to slaughter an entire village, all its inhabitants unprepared, was an unforgivable sin. And now he'd done it again.

"I was attacked," he repeated ashamedly, "but I—I did not have to kill as many as I did."

"First you lost your mother, and then your Master, and both times you murdered several innocents in the aftermath," said Windu sternly. "Anakin, if you are to be a Jedi Knight, this cannot continue."

Anakin bit his lip. "There's no chance of that, Master Windu," he whispered. "I have no one else to lose."

Perhaps the tragedy of the situation hit Windu for the first time, or maybe he simply realized Anakin's pain. Whatever the cause, he did not speak for a while, and when he did, the accusing tone was gone from his voice.

"In the past, several Padawans have chosen to leave the Order altogether if their Master died before their training had finished. However, I have my doubts that that is the path you wish to take."

Anakin nodded shortly.

"I want to be a Knight," he said, and there was no mistaking the fervency in his voice. "More than anything, especially now."

Again, that faint smile passed across Windu's face for a split second. "That's what I thought," he said. "So what do you intend to do?"

Anakin closed his eyes. Force, he didn't want to do this—he didn't want to have to decide for himself. Only now, when it was too late, did he see how right Obi-Wan had been in keeping him under his wing.

"I want to continue my training," he said finally, forcing himself to meet Windu's gaze. "Assign me to whomever you want, I don't care." He stood suddenly and, turning his back on Windu, pretended to be fascinated by something on the wall.

"That's a bold choice," Master Windu commented—Anakin could hear the surprise in his voice. "Not many would be willing to put what might well be the next five years of their life randomly into someone's hands."

Anakin's gaze fell down to the floor, and his shoulders slumped. "Obi-Wan taught me for ten years," he murmured. It was the first time he had spoken his name aloud since that day on Tatooine, and the word felt oddly strange and familiar on his lips at the same time. "He tried to teach me everything, but the thing he taught me most, whether he meant to or not, was that I needed him."

Anakin paused, searching for a word that could somehow express how deep had been Obi-Wan's necessity, how profound was Anakin's own destitution. But such a word did not exist, and Anakin was forced to make do. "I needed him like—like food, like sunlight, like air—and now he's _gone._" His voice cracked horribly on the last word as the truth of it seemed to suffocate him—Anakin leaned his head against the wall and wished with all his soul for Obi-Wan's arms to reach around him and tell him that it was going to be all right, wished that he could bury his face on his Master's shoulder and cry. But no answering touch came to him, no reassuring words reached his ears, and slowly, Anakin remembered that he was not alone.

He shook the tears away, pressed his lips together tightly, then turned back to Master Windu. His voice trembled slightly, but he did not cry.

"I know that no matter who tries to take his place, they will fail," he said simply, almost defiantly. "It does not matter to me."

And Windu did not make a hurried excuse to leave, did not clear his throat uncomfortably and say something about Obi-Wan living on inside Anakin's heart, did not spout Jedi philosophy about death being only a natural part of life. He only looked up at Anakin with solemn eyes.

"I understand," he said simply. "I myself will miss Obi-Wan greatly—I cannot imagine your pain."

Anakin felt slightly breathless, shocked at Windu's suddenly display of humanity. Master Windu rose.

"In three days time," he said, "I will call you before the Council again, to declare your choice of Master. If that Knight agrees to teach you, then you will have found a new Master." Anakin thought he would go then, but Windu stayed a moment longer, and his eyes met Anakin's firmly, as though he could channel strength to the boy through the gaze. Then he strode quickly through the door, and Anakin was left alone.

* * *

Three days later, Master Windu called a meeting of the Council to hear Anakin's decision. Mace could not explain, even to himself, his sudden urge of sympathy for the abandoned apprentice. After all, he himself had been foremost among the group of Council members that had not wanted Anakin to be a Jedi in the first place. But something had changed in Anakin—he was not more trustworthy, per se. It was more that it was suddenly much harder to imagine him doing something wrong.

Only a few minutes after he had been called, Anakin walked into the Council room and stood in the center, his gaze fixed firmly on Mace, as if to say, _This was your doing._ Mace tried to get some hint as to whom he would choose, but Anakin's mind was completely closed.

"Anakin Skywalker," Mace said loudly, his voice ringing through the room. "Have you made your decision?"

"I have,'" Anakin said quietly. He had not bowed or made obeisance of any kind upon entering. "With your permission, Master Windu—I ask to be made your Padawan."

One by one, all heads in the room turned toward Mace, who felt stunned. He had not seen this coming in the slightest degree—was he _serious_? But Anakin's steady gaze did not waver.

There was a long silence. Then Mace broke the silence.

"You know that what you ask is not a light matter," he said. "Much is expected from the apprentice of a Jedi Master, especially one who is on the Council."

But that, he thought suddenly, was exactly what Anakin wanted: to be driven as hard as he could, to be forced to his limits, to be sweating and bleeding and exhausted, as though it was some kind of penance for losing Obi-Wan. What was more, Mace had expressed a sorrow at Obi-Wan's death that Anakin had needed desperately. Now that he thought of it, Anakin's choice made perfect sense.

"I understand all the connotations of my decision," Anakin said firmly, "And I accept them."

"Very well," Mace conceded slowly. "If you are certain, Anakin, then I will take you as my apprentice."

For the first time, he sensed Anakin's confidence waver as the enormity of what he had just done hit him. He had done it—his Master was no longer Obi-Wan Kenobi. For a moment, Anakin's entire soul seemed to tremble. Then the doors to his mind slammed shut, and there was only final, brutal serenity once again.


	4. An Ideal Solution

Once again, the next morning Anakin was awake long before daybreak—it was entirely possible, he thought, that he was the only being stirring in the Temple at this moment. When he had dressed, he walked aimlessly around his room for a few minutes, but couldn't find anything to occupy him. He had to do _something_, or he would go mad, so Anakin made the obvious choice and headed for the training room.

The room was dark—no daylight filtered through the large windows. Anakin couldn't remember a previous time that this enormous chamber, with its vaulted ceilings and matted floors, had ever been completely his. He raised a hand to turn on the lights, then thought again and decided to train without any illumination. It provided an extra challenge, keeping him one more thought away from Obi-Wan.

With a single flick of his wrist, Anakin unhooked the lightsaber from his belt and activated it. The blade shot into the air, cracking through the silent darkness like a whip, casting dim shadows onto the ground. Anakin wished for an opponent, one that would truly test him and make him fight for his life—right now, he would not have been entirely sorry if a Sith appeared right in front of him—but as none happened to be available, Anakin attacked the air instead. He used every tactic at his disposal, attacking his invisible adversary from all angles and directions, and when that provided not enough diversion, he pulled five remotes from a table in the corner and activated them all.

As one they advanced on him, spitting shots of red through the blackness for split seconds, then retreating for an instant as Anakin inevitably blocked their bolt harmlessly into the walls. The lightsaber flashed, another jet of light streaked toward him, and Anakin felt it was the easiest thing in the world to move against it. The glow from his blade moved across his face, reflecting straight into his eyes, and anyone who had been there at that moment would have said that Anakin's eyes seemed to glow of their own accord.

At any other time, Anakin would have heard the footsteps behind him, but he had been sucked up into this storm of movement and fury and deadly calm, and only when a voice spoke his name did he wake from his battle fever.

Windu was standing behind him, his hand still raised in the act of deactivating the remotes. They hovered unseen in the air behind Anakin, humming softly, waiting to be put into use once again.

The Master gave Anakin an inquisitive look—Anakin would have deactivated his lightsaber, but for the fact that it was the only illumination in the room. In the faint blue light, Windu seemed twice as stern, doubly ominous.

"It's a bit early for training," Windu commented. Anakin, chewing very hard on his lower lip, bowed.

"I was…thinking," he said, hoping that the response would keep Windu from questioning.

"You were doing your best not to think," corrected Windu knowingly, displaying an intuitiveness that Anakin had not expected from him. "And you were failing—were you not?"

Anakin swallowed, feeling a sudden burst of resentment toward the unshakable Jedi Master. Friend or not, he could not know, could not _possibly_ understand the torment Anakin endured.

"I don't believe it matters what I choose to think about," he said stiffly. The overwhelming lack of light was beginning to unnerve him, as did the omniscient expression on Windu's face. Windu began a slow, contemplative walk around Anakin, and the Padawan watched him with not a little unease.

"It matters a great deal," said Windu, his deep voice echoing through the chamber. "And the fact that you do not understand this explains to me why you still retain your Padawan braid."

The resentment boiling in Anakin's chest made the leap to rage, and his fist clenched in anger as he held the lightsaber in his other. The slur hit against both Obi-Wan and himself.

"You are mistaken," Windu said shortly. "I criticize only you."

"Stay out of my thoughts," Anakin snarled.

"For ten years you have been a Jedi apprentice," Windu continued, as though Anakin had not spoken. "Obi-Wan taught you well—you have learned much. But after ten years, your thoughts remain dark. You have not yet learned to fight with anything but your anger."

"I know how to fight!"

"Fighting _well_ is not a problem of yours, Anakin," Windu said coldly, stopping in mid-stride. "But inevitably you feed on your anger to carry you through. Because you cannot do otherwise, Obi-Wan kept you from Knighthood. If you wish to become a Jedi Knight then you must detach yourself from the battle, or your battle will become a massacre! You are the Chosen One—such tendencies could mean the end of us all!"

The accusations shot like painful darts into Anakin's chest. Only Master Windu could have possibly made him feel so insignificant, so worthless, and yet conscious of being so essential at the same time.

"Fine," he said angrily, making no effort to hide the undertone of bitter sullenness. "So teach me."

Windu took a step back and raised his hand, and at once, the room burst into light. Even the walls themselves seem to emanate brightness, and Anakin, used to the darkness, ducked his head and covered his eyes quickly. The change seemed to affect Windu not at all.

"The first step," intoned Windu, "is to accustom yourself to the Light." He turned a piercing look upon Anakin. "Was there any particular reason that you chose not to turn the lights on?"

Anakin shrugged, his mind racing as he wondered if there was any way to phrase the truth that would not get him in more trouble. "It was easier," he mumbled finally. He stared at the ground as Windu gave him that _look_ again, the one that Anakin had feared since he was nine, the one that told him plainly that Windu could see every thought in his head. There was a pause.

"There is no need to blame yourself for what happened to Obi-Wan," Windu said at last. "Nor a need for punishment."

Anakin took a breath uncomfortably, then looked straight into Windu's eyes. "I know that," he said, slowly and deliberately. Windu did not look away.

"But you do not believe it," he replied. "Prepare yourself."

With a practiced ease, Anakin bent his knees and fell into a basic starting position, lightsaber raised. His braid fell over his ear, and Anakin shook it back. Just assuming the familiar pose comforted him slightly, something he had done for as long as he could remember and would always be able to do. He looked up at Windu, waiting to begin—but the Master only looked at him again.

"I have not said what you will be doing, yet you have already made up your mind as to how you will fight," he reproached Anakin. "What makes you think that Form V would be best in this instance?"

Feeling sheepish but unwilling to show it, Anakin straightened out of the posture. Again, he felt anger wash over him, mixed with despair. Windu knew nothing about his training—no one could, except for Obi-Wan himself, so how could anyone possibly teach him? Perhaps it would have been best if he _had_ left the Order…perhaps there was still time…

"You favor Form VII," he said, his tone carrying a bit more insolence than he had intended. "I'm not allowed to do the same with whatever Form I choose?"

"In normal battle, certainly," Windu conceded easily. "But when training, and on certain occasions, a Jedi must adapt to his surroundings, and you are still an apprentice. From now on, we will work only in Form III, at least until I think you are ready to do otherwise."

Anakin frowned and almost spoke, then thought better of it at the very last second and bit his tongue. There were seven Forms of lightsaber combat that the Jedi employed, varying on who your opponent was and what weapon he used, and none was overwhelmingly better than the rest. Once a Jedi had been taught at least the basics of each Form, they were free to choose one of them to direct most of their training toward.

Anakin had chosen Form V, the most aggressive and powerful of all Forms. In Form V, attacking was much easier, but eventually you would leave yourself dangerously vulnerable as you went in for the kill. Its raw passion had appealed to Anakin, a born risk-taker, and still did. Form III, on the other hand, was almost purely defensive. A true master of this Form was said to be invincible—but he would do very little in the way of defeating others. The Form involved almost no attack, and for that reason alone, Anakin loathed Form III, denouncing it as boring.

Reluctantly, Anakin settled into a beginning stance of Form III, mentally grumbling against what he considered to be Windu's unspeakable ignorance. The fact that Windu could probably sense every word in his head, he ignored rebelliously.

"Jhos parry one," said Windu suddenly. Instantly Anakin flew into motion, whirling and executing the maneuver. Even before he had finished Windu spoke again, his low voice carrying easily in the room. "Sulq turn four. Khal kick one. Sulq thrust two."

The fervor of movement, relentless and swift, gave Anakin a fierce sort of peace of mind. Only in the thick of battle could he completely ignore the pain that hammered constantly at his heart, and so when Windu simply ceased, Anakin was left hanging. Breathless, he looked over at Master Windu, who gave a perfunctory nod.

"Good. Again."

Anakin stared at him. "Just the four?" he asked, hardly bothering to hide the derisive incredulousness of his tone. He could have gone on for hours and never repeated a one!

"There is a large difference between battling your opponent and trying to defeat him," Windu said calmly. "When you have learned that difference, we will move on. Again."

Anakin did, but he was not thinking of the maneuvers as he performed. Instead, his mind was repeating bewilderedly, _…a difference between battling your opponent and trying to defeat him._ To Anakin's way of thinking, it made no sense: if you were battling someone at all, then by necessity you must be trying to defeat them. What else could you _do_ in a fight?

This inexplicable exercise went on for hours, and it didn't take long for Anakin to become so bored that he thought he would die. Again and again his body formed the exact same positions and movements, until Anakin could have fallen asleep and kept right on. At first, the passion that normally filled his training was present, but as time wore on, Anakin grew so weary of the entire thing that he just stopped trying, and only performed the maneuvers with a resigned air. After an hour of this new tactic, Windu spoke.

"That will do."

Anakin went lightheaded with relief; Windu was standing against the wall, watching Anakin's progress untiringly.

"You may go," he said, nodding at the door. They were no longer alone in the room, and its great windows had filled with light. The sun had arisen over two hours ago. "You have done well enough."

The resentment buried in Anakin's chest flared up again for a moment—was that all the praise he got?—but he decided, wisely, to ignore it and take the dismissal before Windu changed his mind. He gave a short bow, then practically ran from the room.

_Obi-Wan would have known how to teach me,_ Anakin thought rebelliously, then immediately quashed the thought with another._ But Obi-Wan is dead._

Maybe if he thought it enough, it would cease to hurt so badly. Anakin closed his eyes as he walked, biting down on his tongue sharply. _Obi-Wan is dead. Obi-Wan Kenobi is dead._ The words had a strange, angry rhythm to them, one that Anakin could almost keep time to with his footsteps.

_Obi-Wan-Kenobi-is-dead. Obi-Wan-Kenobi-is-dead. Obi-Wan-Kenobi-is-dead._

By the time Anakin had reached his apartments blood was pooling in his mouth, the words hurt him no less, and his throat ached with unshed tears. He spat the blood onto the floor and threw himself onto the sleep couch.

Force, what _was_ this pain? It was unfathomable, immeasurable, ripping away at bits of his soul and tearing them to shreds. It was like nothing he had felt before, and it would kill him soon. Anakin knew that as well as he knew anything else, as well as he knew that the ground was beneath his feet and the sky was above him. No human being could survive such pain—the idea was laughable.

His options were obvious: he could reduce the pain—oh, Force, if only he knew how!—or he could end it, right where he lay. Anakin turned over and gazed at the ceiling. The latter solution seemed to jump out at him; it would end, all this suffering would be over, and maybe—Anakin's heart leapt at the thought, before he could tell himself not to hope—maybe he would see Obi-Wan again.

With that prospect before him, how could he _not_ go through with it? Almost without thinking, Anakin stood; his hand went to the lightsaber at his belt. A glad smile played over his face for the first time in weeks. No more of this pain, no more torture, only his Master's loving arms, as it had always been. He was going to be with Obi-Wan—_he was going to be with Obi-Wan!_

The lightsaber extended out of its hilt at the touch of a button, and Anakin looked at the flickering blade with amusement in his features. The weight on his shoulders had lifted—for a moment again, he was whole, as he thought of what would be in only seconds.

"Jhos parry one," Anakin repeated out loud, unable to keep a grin from his face. "Sulq turn four."

He knew where to put the blade, exactly so that death—but how could such a joyous reunion be called death?—would be instantaneous. The blade of the lightsaber hummed loudly, as though in anticipation of its final blessed deed. Anakin twirled the weapon over his hand, then held it to his chest.

_Straight through the heart…_

"I love you, Master," were his last words. There was a flash of light, a flurry of movement, and though Anakin's eyes were closed, he felt strong hands close over his on the lightsaber hilt.

"Anakin!"

He turned toward the voice, blinking. "Master," he whispered, barely audibly—but it was not his Master, those hands did not belong to Obi-Wan. With a cry, Anakin wrenched himself away, stumbling across the room.

"Anakin, what are you _doing_?" Windu shouted. Tears of disappointment streamed down Anakin's face—_he had been_ _so close_—

"Why didn't you let me go?" he screamed at Windu. "Why didn't you let me go?" The lightsaber clattered to the floor, singeing the leg of a chair.

"You're not thinking straight!" Windu accused him. "Obi-Wan would not want you to kill yourself, and I will not let you do such a thing!"

Anakin only shook his head wordlessly, despair overcoming his ability to speak. How could he possibly explain what he himself barely understood—that death was not just an escape, it was no longer something to be feared, but it was the answer to everything!

Windu stepped forward quickly and clutched Anakin's wrist, just as the Padawan's knees buckled and he started to sink. "Anakin, Obi-Wan is gone," Windu said firmly. "That does not mean your life is over."

A laugh bubbled up into Anakin's throat before he could stop it. "You don't understand," he protested, torn between hysterical mirth and unbearable sorrow. "It's not a bad thing—it's not—" He would have been with Obi-Wan, so it was not death, it was only the action of ridding himself of the body that kept him from his beloved Master. Death was being where Obi-Wan was not, on this side.

But Windu was not listening. He straightened the limp Anakin, and placed heavy hands on his shoulders. Meeting Anakin's gaze squarely, Windu repeated quietly, "Obi-Wan is dead."

The laughter faded in Anakin's throat. _Don't say it…_

"Obi-Wan is dead. He is gone forever. He no longer exists. Not here, not on any plane of existence you would care to name. He's gone, Anakin."

With every word that came out of Windu's mouth, something within the deepest part of Anakin withered and died. The pain that shone from his eyes was so poignant that Windu was forced to lower his gaze, but the damage had already been done.

Windu called the fallen lightsaber to his hand, deactivated it, then handed it back to Anakin. "Promise me," he said softly, "that you will not try this again." Anakin nodded distantly as he stared at the floor, words ringing in his ears. _Dead. Gone. Dead._ The ache in Anakin's heart, before so infinite, swelled for a moment and then lessened very slightly. _Gone._ To rid himself of his pain, he must rid himself of hope as well.

So far away was Anakin's mind that he barely noticed when Windu left. For a long time, he simply stood there, looking numbly down at the lightsaber in his hand. At last his senses seemed to return, and he returned the weapon to his belt, then lay listlessly on the bed.

His body could take no more sudden shocks; Anakin had no intention of sleeping, but no sooner had his head touched the pillow than his eyes closed. A rare and blessed instance, this time there were no dreams.


	5. Beginnings and Ends

Author's Note: Sorry this chapter took so long; I've been banned for the past week from uploading anything, for the offense of miscategorizing something. It's not up to my usual standard, I'm afraid, but I've been really busy lately, so hopefully you'll be able to enjoy it anyway.

* * *

The next few weeks passed in almost exactly the same way, sans suicide attempt. In the mornings, Windu would inevitably find Anakin in the training room and assign him some inexplicable and generally boring set of maneuvers. Anakin had braced himself on the day afterward for a stream of platitudes and teachings on the value of life, but to his profound relief and gratitude, Windu kept silent on the subject. 

In the afternoons, Anakin would train alone, stretching his limits farther than he'd thought they could ever reach. He could go all day, until every muscle in his body ached and he was ready to collapse on the floor. He would run through every movement that he knew, sometimes performing the same maneuver over and over for hours if he felt that he was not doing it correctly.

Throughout the day, Anakin would repeat to himself a thousand times that Obi-Wan was gone, and sometimes he almost believed it. The fragile prayer deep inside him had been shattered almost beyond repair at the words Windu had spoken; somehow the truth had not seemed real until the Jedi Master had put it so plainly. By the end of the day, there were times that Anakin had almost managed to accept Obi-Wan's departure.

But hope springs eternal in youth, and though Anakin was far older than his years, this blessing he still retained. He did his best to quash it, knowing that he could never truly escape his pain until it was gone. At times it seemed that Anakin had succeeded; but inevitably, each and every night, just before his eyes closed in sleep, his lips formed words that he had never meant to say.

"Please," he would whisper, desperate and pleading, "please, let Obi-Wan come back to me."

It was all the hope that Anakin allowed himself, and although this Anakin did not fully understand, it was also the only thing that kept him alive.

After about a month, at last the murmurs of sympathy seemed to die down. No more did voices hush for an instant when Anakin walked into a room, no longer did he see people looking at him in the halls with pitying eyes. For this he was thankful; their pity only drove the knife deeper. In a peculiar conundrum that only Anakin himself could begin to comprehend, he did not want to forget Obi-Wan—but neither did he want to remember.

It was for this reason that Anakin trained as hard as he did; his meditation time had shrunk to practically nothing now, but at almost any given hour of the day, he could be found in the enormous training room, lightsaber in hand.

_Jump, kick, land, roll, thrust, parry, thrust, dodge, kick—_

"Anakin?"

The sound jolted Anakin abruptly out of the rhythm of his battle—it was like being forced out a dream. Instead of finishing his kick, Anakin stumbled, caught off guard, then turned to the speaker when he had regained his balance, chagrined at his failure.

"Hey, Ferus," Anakin greeted his friend, breathing hard as he wiped a sweaty lock of hair out of his eyes. It had been getting longer lately, as Anakin hadn't bothered to cut it. "What are you doing down here?"

Ferus shrugged. "Siri's talking with the Council," he explained. "I didn't have anything better to do."

"Great." Anakin nodded toward the lightsaber at Ferus' belt. "Want to spar?"

Ferus hesitated for an instant—there was a hunger in Anakin's eyes, a need to defeat that Ferus didn't like. He nodded slowly.

"All right," he agreed, taking his lightsaber from his belt and activating it. As one, they assumed a starting stance—Anakin in Form V, unwilling to use any other Form except when necessary—and began.

The lightsabers clashed, blue against green. From the very first, it was obvious how the battle would go: Ferus remained on the defensive, attacking only when he saw an opening, while Anakin fought furiously, striking out at every blow. The walls of the training room faded away, as did the friend before him—all Anakin saw was a battlefield, and a foe.

Ferus's guard slipped, just for an instant, but Anakin saw his chance. He whirled and attacked; Ferus's lightsaber flew from his grip and fell to the ground. An unexpected kick to the chest sent him sprawling against the wall, and before he even had time to move, Anakin's lightsaber was at his throat.

Anakin was utterly still. His mind was still shaking itself back to normal, and as it did so, the realization struck him: one more second, and Ferus would have been dead.

His friend knew it as well. Both had felt the shudder in the Force, the rage buried deep within Anakin that had lashed out in the only way it could. Anakin was panting for breath, trembling at the power of the Dark Side that had struck through him. He deactivated the lightsaber and turned, walking quickly away, tormented by guilt. Ferus said nothing, and when Anakin turned again, his friend was gone.

There was an empty bench sitting against the wall; Anakin's knees gave way, and he sank down upon it. Tusken Raiders and gang members were one thing, but to try taking the life of one of his closest friends…

The Council had warned Obi-Wan against him, telling him more than once that the Dark Side had a hold on his Padawan. Anakin had been able to ignore these rumors thus far, but now he looked down at his right hand, still trembling, and wondered fearfully just how much of this dark power surged through his veins. Much, much more than he had thought, if he could forget himself so far as to attack Ferus Olin. In attempting to merely defeat his friend, he had given the Dark Side an opening to take him the rest of the way.

"Cursed," Anakin repeated in a whisper, his voice shaking. "I am cursed."

Windu's words came back to him—was this what the Master had meant? His mind working very slowly, Anakin recalled the rest of Windu's lecture.

"_If you wish to become a Jedi Knight then you must detach yourself from the battle, or your battle will become a massacre!"_

Was that the difference between battling your opponent and trying to defeat him? He no longer had Obi-Wan to protect him, so he would have to do it himself. A feeling of fearful helplessness washed over him—what if he failed?—but he had to do his best.

Anakin stood, rested his hand against the wall for a moment. It would mean the reinventing of everything he had learned in ten years, but as his battle with Ferus had quite clearly evidenced, it had to be done. But he did not dare fight anyone else, lest he repeat what had just happened. So he started with the most basic technique any Jedi Padawan can learn: running up a wall.

It had been years since Anakin had tried this, but as soon as he started running, muscle memory came into play and he flipped back onto his feet like he had never stopped practicing. But no sooner had he stopped moving than Anakin's heart sank—he knew, with utter certainty, that his goal had not been to perform the maneuver to the best of his ability, but rather to complete it with dire perfection.

Anakin took a deep breath and faced the wall again. As though an invisible shot had been fired, he took off, repeated the maneuver, but with no success. He landed feeling extremely unsatisfied; how could he learn what Windu wanted him to when he didn't even understand what it meant? His expression set, Anakin readied himself—this would take a while.

* * *

The next morning, Anakin was waiting for Windu when he came in the door of the training room. "Are you ready?" Windu asked him, and Anakin replied with a nod. 

The Master resumed his regular place by the wall, and gave Anakin the usual list of maneuvers. Anakin listened with only half an ear—the rest of his brain was occupied with the thorny problem of detaching his mind from his battle. He repeated Windu's teaching like a frantic mantra—_do not try to defeat your opponent, do not try to defeat your opponent_—and so tense was he that, when Windu gave him the signal to begin, Anakin's muscles exploded into a whirlwind of movement.

_Think about something else,_ he instructed himself immediately. His foot slipped, he misstepped, but he ignored the mistake and tried to draw his mind away entirely. _Don't think, don't think, don't think—_

"Stop!"

Windu's voice completely threw Anakin off. Feeling his heart sink into his stomach, he turned to face the Master. What had he done wrong _now_?

But to Anakin's complete shock, there was a faint, yet unmistakable smile on Windu's face.

"So you have finally understood," Windu said softly. "I think Obi-Wan would be very proud of you."

Anakin wanted to feel pleased, but all he could feel instead was a curious emptiness. He realized with a start that he had hardly thought of Obi-Wan at all today, so intensely had he been concentrating on Windu's teaching, and that realization filled him with guilt and sadness. Biting back the now-familiar lump in his throat, Anakin bowed and murmured a "Thank you, Master" before exiting the room quickly.

The farther away he got from the training room, the more his frustration grew. This was what Obi-Wan would have wanted, wasn't it? He _would_ have been pleased that Anakin finally understood the difference, would have been proud of his Padawan for learning to fight as a Jedi should. But…why had Obi-Wan never taught it to Anakin himself, if it was so important?

Anakin continued walking, having no destination in mind but refusing to stop. He didn't like where his thoughts were taking him, couldn't bear the idea that Obi-Wan had been anything less than a perfect Master. Indeed, the idea that Obi-Wan was anything _but_ a perfect Master seemed absolutely ludicrous. _But if Obi-Wan would have been proud of me…?_

The thought tormented him, teasing at his very soul. It felt like terrible disloyalty to even consider it, and yet somehow Anakin's mind refused to focus on anything else until he felt he would go mad; so it was that, with quick, almost guilty steps and a feeling of growing apprehension, Anakin made his way to the one place he had never thought to see again.

Obi-Wan's room was in no way outstanding from the thousand other Jedi apartments, for like the perfect Jedi he was, he had always strictly adhered to the rule of no personal possessions; but to Anakin, it was as though he had entered the inner sanctum of a temple. Obi-Wan was its god, and everything in this room, no matter how insignificant—a datapad, a boot halfway tucked under the bed, a cloak tossed carelessly over the back of a chair—was blessed and holy, because Obi-Wan had touched it. Anakin remembered all the times his Master had taken his hand, touched his forehead, embraced him, and felt that he had been blessed as well.

He walked slowly within the room, occasionally reaching out to touch some random object. This he did with the air of one who brushes his hand against a sacred relic, as though just that touch could grant some mystical power, or in this case, simply ease the weight on his heart. Obi-Wan would have laughed to see Anakin approach with such timidity the items which he had almost broken on several occasions before—but then, Obi-Wan was dead.

Slowly, he sat down on the sleep couch and laid his head upon the pillow, buried his face in it to remember Obi-Wan's scent, and as he did so, something tucked under the pillow crinkled noisily. Frowning slightly, Anakin reached underneath and pulled out a piece of flimsy precisely folded into three sections. Without a second thought, he opened it and read.

It was a letter, dated only a few months ago in a neat handwriting that Anakin knew all too well. But if Obi-Wan had written it, why had he never sent it?

The first two words answered that question.

_Dear Qui-Gon—_

_Did you have any idea, when you commanded me to train the Chosen One, what it would mean to _me_? All the sleepless nights he has caused me can hardly be healthy; every day I am afraid that he will do something else stupid and heroic, like running through the thick of a battle to save one last clone trooper and end up in front of the Council for it, or worse, setting my couch on fire (again!). The name of Anakin Skywalker is synonymous, in my case, with white hairs and an early grave._

Anakin could almost hear the exasperated sighs, could almost see Obi-Wan's familiar gesture of running a hand over his face in frustration as he penned this letter to a man who could not answer. It was almost worth reading the hurtful words in front of him to receive that image.

_He has upset my life, my career as a Jedi, all my plans for the future, _everything_! So here is the question I put to you: how is it that, no matter what he does to me, all he has to do is meet my gaze and grin to make me believe that I am the most blessed man that ever lived?_

_I remember none of my biological family, so I could not say exactly what my feelings are toward Anakin. But if a father feels that he would die in an instant to save his son, then Anakin is my son. If a man would leave everything he ever knew to follow his brother into the dangerous unknown, then Anakin is certainly my brother. As Master and Padawan, we are in no way related to each other, so we are not limited to only one sort of love. At times I comfort him, as would seem right, but I would be lying if I told you that there had never been a time that it was I who cried, and Anakin who held and reassured me. We are nothing to each other, and so we are everything._

There was more to the letter, but Anakin was unable to read it; tears were streaming down his face and at the last word, he began to sob. The tears, pent up for so long, would not be held back, and so Anakin cried, with loud, heaving sobs that wracked his body and seemed to rip through his soul. The precious letter crumpled in his hand, and he mouthed Obi-Wan's name over and over again, his eyes shut tightly.

_We are nothing to each other, and so we are everything._

There was a dull roaring sound in Anakin's ears; it was like losing Obi-Wan all over again, but this time he remained conscious, and only felt the more pain for it. He buried his face deep in Obi-Wan's pillow again, in the place where Obi-Wan's head had once lain, and cried into it for a very long time.

_Heal. Heal. You cannot survive like this. Heal. Be whole once again. Heal._

But to be whole was impossible, when half of him was missing. No, he could not heal. The best he could do was to close over the open wounds, blunt the pain as best he could, ignore all emotion so he felt no pain. Then maybe—maybe, he could survive.

Anakin forced himself to stand, very shakily. He felt vulnerable, dangerously off-balance, as though he had attempted to lean on something and found only air. He took a step—_breathe_—and another—_breathe_—until he was leaning against the door, his forehead pressed to the cool metal as he struggled to catch his breath. Obi-Wan was dead, he told himself—_breathe_—and the universe moved on. And on, and on, unchanging and steady, never ceasing no matter what trifling human affairs occurred. If only, Anakin thought with wistful bitterness, he could emulate such equanimity.

_Steady, unchanging,_ he told himself as he straightened. If he did not let himself care, then he could not die of pain. Obi-Wan was dead, and life went on, to a point…

_No, do not think that. Steady and unchanging, steady and unchanging, there is no passion, there is serenity._

It was so desperately against Anakin's own nature that to keep repeating it felt like killing a bit of himself, but he did it anyway, and it did grant him a fierce sort of respite. Detaching your mind could apply to anything, he decided—just don't care, don't dare to think at all. It was this cruel philosophy that allowed him, when he met Master Windu in the hall and learned that their first mission together would take place in two weeks, to nod and keep walking. Just keep walking, keep walking, keep walking, and do not dare to remember…

When he reached his room, Anakin threw the letter into the trash droid, and did not look at it again.


	6. Breaking Walls

The mission, as Anakin learned later from Master Windu, would take them to Ryloth, to settle some dispute between warring factions of Twi'leks. Ryloth was slightly oval-shaped, rather than being a perfect sphere, so it did not revolve properly on its axis as it should have, but instead remained perpetually stuck in space. One side of the planet, therefore, was uninhabitable due to its unbearably low temperature; the other side was barren and scorched, as the sun beat down on that land day and night without rest. The only inhabitable section of Ryloth, therefore, was a strip of land between the two extremes. Should full-scale civil war break out, as it now threatened to do, so small was their fighting territory that it would be entirely possible for the entire population of Ryloth to be wiped out. To prevent this calamity came Master Mace Windu and his new Padawan, negotiators of peace.

It was hardly the sort of mission that an esteemed Jedi Master would normally take—for that matter, a Master on the Council would almost certainly never go on missions anyway—but as Anakin's time as an apprentice would almost certainly be finished soon, the Council had decided that his training should continue as normal until Knighthood.

So it was that Anakin found himself, two weeks later, onboard a small, swift transport headed for Ryloth. Windu had assured him that the mission would not take long—as if the ground would burn his feet until he was back on Coruscant, Anakin thought wryly, as though every second on an Obi-Wan-less mission would kill him. Why should it matter? Obi-Wan was dead.

It took only two days to reach Ryloth; although the planet was less than a parsec from Tatooine, their ship was much faster this time. Even as they landed on the sparse, flat section of land that served as a docking bay, Anakin saw through the window a male Twi'lek standing nearby, waiting for them to emerge. One headtail hung down his back, and the other was wrapped around his neck, as was customary for males. A full-length black robe flapped around his ankles in the strong wind as the Twi'lek held up a hand against the sun to shield his eyes. As Anakin and Windu exited the ship, Anakin with a rucksack slung over one shoulder, he approached.

"You are the Jedi sent to help us?" he questioned. He was tall; lines were etched across his face, an undeniable sign of age. It was a stern and solemn face, and yet there was a kind undertone to his deep voice. Anakin felt an instinctive trust surge through him.

"I am Jedi Master Windu," said Windu, and then, gesturing, "This is my Padawan, Anakin Skywalker."

Anakin bit his lip as he shook the Twi'lek's hand. It still sounded so strange…

"Many greetings," the Twi'lek welcomed them cordially. "My name is Ere Nifora. I cannot tell you how grateful I am that the Jedi Order was able to send you. I fear not only for my family, but for all of my people, if war breaks out."

Anakin blinked. He hadn't known they would be meeting with the leader of the Twi'lek people. For that matter, he hadn't even known Twi'leks _had_ a leader. Force, if Windu hadn't sat him down and explained the basic premise, for want of curiosity Anakin could have gone through the entire mission without ever really understanding what it was he was supposed to be doing. Normally he would spend weeks before a mission preparing himself, learning about the different cultures and societies they would be visiting. But somehow, without Obi-Wan, it had never really seemed like a mission at all.

"We will do all that is in our power to prevent a war," Windu reassured Ere. "It would be an unspeakable tragedy, should such a thing occur."

"Thank you for your kind words," Ere responded, bowing his tan head. "If you have no objections, I can lead you to my home right away. It is not far—our cities are quite close together."

He began walking north, and Windu went after him. Anakin looked around for a moment before following; there were tall trees on all sides of them, forming a large clearing barely a half-mile in diameter. There was something oddly peaceful about the place, and Anakin caught himself wishing that Obi-Wan could see it. He knew instinctively that this was a place his Master would have liked. Shaking his head, as though it could be that easy to clear the thoughts away, he started walking.

Ere had been right; it was only a few minutes before Anakin saw the outline of a city rising against the sky. The buildings were, for the most part, only a story high—something Anakin was not used to, having lived on Coruscant for most of his life—and made of some dark gray stone that he did not recognize. Also, where Coruscant's streets were rigidly straight, these unpaved roads seemed to wander wherever they pleased, so haphazardly that it was as though they coincided with the buildings almost by accident.

It was at one of these buildings, in no way outstanding from the rest, that Ere stopped. He opened the door and moved aside to let the Jedi in, then stepped inside and closed the door behind him.

A table, large enough to seat five or six, sat in the center of the large room. The inside of the walls, like the outside, were a dull gray, but these had been decorated by a few colorful holo-stills brightened the room considerably. A glo-lamp hung above the table, suspended by a short wire and spreading cheerful light through the entire room. From here, there were two doorways besides the one they had just entered.

"My hospitality is humble," Ere said, smiling, "but I trust you will find it both friendly and comfortable."

"You are very kind," Windu assured him. "I hope we will not be forced to intrude on your home for very long."

There was a muffled noise from behind them; Anakin turned around to see a young Twi'lek girl of nine or ten looking up at him from behind a door. He couldn't help staring at her; Anakin had never seen a Twi'lek with her color skin. The girl was not blue or green, as was usual, but rather a pure, milky white. As soon as she saw Anakin looking at her, she ducked out of sight.

"Anakin?"

The Padawan looked quickly at Windu; his Master's face was questioning, waiting for a reply to whatever question had been asked. Anakin swallowed, trying to make up for his blunder.

"I'm sorry," he said quickly, gesturing vaguely to the door behind him. "I wasn't listening, I—um—there was—there was a girl—" He broke off, fully aware of how lame he sounded. Fortunately, Ere only smiled again.

"My youngest daughter," he explained. "Her name is Aiin, and she is very shy. Hopefully she will grow more comfortable to having you around during your stay. My other daughter is away for the moment, but she should be back soon." There was silence for a moment, then, as though suddenly remembering something he had forgotten, Ere said, "I've prepared a room for you to stay in. If you will follow me…"

He led them through the other door in the room, opposite where Anakin had just seen the girl, through a small but neatly-kept kitchen, and then into another room beyond that, with two thin cots side by side its only furniture.

"The refresher is just off the kitchen," Ere said as he showed them into the room. He looked as though he was about to say something more, but a voice from the rest of the house called out suddenly, "Papa!" Ere quickly excused himself, leaving the two Jedi alone in the darkened room.

Anakin slung his small rucksack off his shoulder and onto one of the cots. Neither he nor Windu spoke, and suddenly Anakin missed terribly the normal cheerful banter that would have filled the room, had things been normal. He had never realized before how much of Obi-Wan there was in his life; every tiny crack, Obi-Wan had filled, and now that he was gone Anakin was forcefully aware of how little he had left. The quiet seemed to fill the room almost tangibly, and Anakin was privately relieved when Windu spoke.

"Mr. Nifora has asked us to speak with the leader of the _Bainyeta _as soon as possible," he said.

"The what?" asked Anakin intelligently, turning to face Windu and wondering just how much he had missed.

"_Bainyeta_," repeated Windu. "It means 'life' in the Twi'lek language. From what I've been told, it seems that more and more Twi'leks—and they call themselves the _Bainyeta_—have been demanding that the entire species be moved to another planet. They say that it is impractical to expect a growing population to live in such a small and potentially unhealthy environment."

Thinking back to all he had read about Ryloth, Anakin felt that he rather agreed with these _Bainyeta_ people. "So who's fighting it?"

Windu gave a casual shrug. "Mostly traditionalists, but there are those who believe that another planet would simply be too hostile. Female Twi'leks are prized as slaves all over the universe, and it would only be that much simpler to get to them and break up the population for good."

Anakin blinked, feeling slightly let down. "That's what they're going to start a war over?" he asked disbelievingly. "That's it?"

A knowing smile touched the corners of Windu's mouth for a moment. "Far greater wars have been started over far less," he chided Anakin gently, and then continued. "Mr. Nifora is a strong supporter of the latter position; he wants us to negotiate terms of peace, as well as permanent settlement on Ryloth, before anything drastic occurs."

Anakin nodded, then yawned abruptly. He tried to hide the action, but of course Windu saw.

"Are you tired?" he asked. Anakin shrugged noncommittally; the question sent a thrill of surprise through him. It had never occurred to him that the stolid Jedi Master could worry about him; up until now, it had always been Obi-Wan's job to do that. Of course he was tired—Anakin had reasoned that since he could not sleep without nightmares, it was better to sleep only when absolutely necessary, but his body disagreed with this fervently. He had not taken the time to train himself to need only a few hours of sleep before plunging headlong into the new schedule, and it showed.

"Get some rest," Windu told him. "You'll need to be alert tomorrow, when we speak with the leader of the resistance." With that well-meaning order, Windu left the room, unaware that he was to be blatantly disobeyed. The price of sleep was not one that Anakin was willing to pay.

He did lie down, one arm curved under his head on the pillow, but only for a few moments, and he was careful to keep his eyes open. Then, deciding that he had "rested" long enough, Anakin slid off the bed and pulled a datapad out of his backpack. If he had time to himself, he would spend it catching up on all that he had neglected to learn earlier.

He selected the correct system, then Ryloth itself, and began reading about the planet's early history, set on getting up-to-date with this stuff. However, he had only reached Ribok's attempted annexation of the Twi'lek planet a couple hundred years ago before he became aware of another presence in the room. At first, Anakin assumed it was Windu, but when he looked up he saw something white flash backward through the doorway, and he laughed.

"It's all right," he called, grinning in spite of himself. "Come in."

Nothing happened for a moment, then two dark eyes appeared around the wall. They froze where they were, curiosity warring with timidity, and in the end curiosity won out. Slowly the girl walked out of her hiding place toward Anakin. She had on a simple blue dress, and she wore a pendent with a polished blue stone strung on it.

"You're Aiin, right?" said Anakin, trying to break the ice. "Your father told me."

She nodded, moving to sit next to him on the floor. "You're the Jedi," she asserted with childish solemnity.

"One of them," Anakin amended. "My—" He stopped; he couldn't say it, no matter how he tried. "Master Windu is out there with your father, I think." Eventually, he promised himself, eventually he would call Windu Master. Just once more would he reserve the title for Obi-Wan, and then he would move on. With that feeble excuse, he gave himself a mental jerk and forced his mind to the present, to the girl beside him.

She would be beautiful when she was older, there was no doubt about it. Even now, her features showed the first traces of true loveliness. Anakin could see the faint curve of her high cheekbone beginning to appear, and her eyes, almond-shaped and the rich color of chocolate, stood out against her white skin like two dark gems lying in the snow. They were wide with interest now as Aiin looked at him, as though observing a foreign species. Actually, Anakin realized, it was entirely possible that she had never seen a human before.

"What's your name?" she asked with sudden boldness. Anakin told her, and Aiin repeated it back to herself silently, mouthing the syllables. Without knowing why, Anakin felt himself drawn to her. The walls he had built around himself at Obi-Wan's death to keep others out suddenly and inexplicably collapsed, and when Aiin scooted closer to look over his shoulder at the datapad, her shyness evaporating swiftly, Anakin somehow did not mind at all.

"I've seen one of those before," Aiin told him, referring to the datapad. "Papa has one, but you know, he doesn't let me touch it." She hesitated, then asked, "Could—could I see it? For a little while?"

Without a qualm, Anakin handed it to her. It wasn't as though Ryloth's political history was all that exciting. Aiin turned the everyday object over in her hands, looking it over with innocent fascination. "What can you do on it?"

Anakin leaned over her shoulder to touch a few spots on the datapad's screen in demonstration. "Well, mostly they're just for reading," he explained, "but there's other things you can use it for." He gave her a quizzical look. "Don't you have datapads on Ryloth?"

"Oh, lots of people do," Aiin assured him. "They're just more expensive here, Papa says, so I'm not allowed to have my own. Neither is Raana."

Anakin must have looked puzzled, for Aiin quickly elaborated. "Raana's my sister," she said. "She's nice to me most of the time, but once in a while she gets really bossy. What other things?"

The Padawan blinked, trying to think what they were talking about now. "Oh, the datapad. Well…" Anakin reached into his rucksack again and pulled out a gamechip. Playing hologames was one of those things that was technically frowned upon by the Council, but widely practiced among the Padawans anyway. It had become a habit of Anakin's to throw the chip into his pack automatically when he went on missions; until now, he hadn't even realized he had it with him.

"Ever played a hologame before?" he asked Aiin, who shook her head. Anakin grinned again. "Then you're in for a treat."

For the next hour, Anakin busied himself by showed Aiin how to play HoloSquadron 3, which was the only HoloSquadron game out of the five to be released for datapads as well as the full HoloGame system. The Twi'lek girl was surprisingly good at it; she had, Anakin thought to himself, the potential to become a very good pilot later in life.

Being around her was comforting in a way Anakin had not thought possible. Aiin was so young; she knew nothing of tragedy and nothing of pain. This innocence inspired in him a sort of superfluous protective instinct; this must be, he thought as he watched her play, something like what a father feels toward his daughter. It made him want to keep her innocent for as long as possible, to hold at bay whatever might threaten her. It made him feel like…like Obi-Wan.

"Anakin?"

The Padawan looked up hastily, shaken out of his reverie. Windu was standing above him, watching the two of them sitting together with a look of subdued amusement.

"Mr. Nifora has kindly offered to share his evening meal with us," Windu told Anakin. "If you two have quite finished, I suggest you take advantage of his generosity."

Anakin nodded wordlessly, and as Windu left, Aiin stood and handed the datapad back to him.

"You'll like what's for dinner," she told Anakin brightly. "Raana's a really good cook. Come on, you can sit next to me!" Aiin clasped his large hand in the both of hers and pulled him toward the door. Anakin followed obediently, and as they walked side by side through the kitchen, Aiin looked up at him with sweet adoration in her gaze. Anakin, a bit unnerved, felt compelled to say something.

"That's a pretty necklace," he managed finally. Aiin smiled, and one hand moved to caress the stone in what was obviously a practiced motion.

"I know," she said matter-of-factly. "Somebody gave the crystal to me, and Papa showed me how to put a hole in it so I could wear it around my neck." She rubbed her thumb against the smooth surface again—the light glinted on the facets, and something powerful and familiar struck Anakin's mind. He stopped dead in his tracks, looking down at the gem around Aiin's white throat.

"Can—" Anakin swallowed; his throat had suddenly gone dry. "Can I see that for a second?"

Aiin shrugged carelessly and pulled the chain over her head, dropping it in Anakin's palm. He turned it over in his hand with fingers that shook, looking for some defect that would tell him he was wrong and finding nothing.

"Anakin, what's wrong?" Aiin asked concernedly. Abruptly, Anakin shoved the pendent back into her hand and straightened.

"Nothing," he said shortly. "Nothing's wrong." He looked over at the door that led to the dining room, then back at Aiin. "I—I'm not hungry now. I'm going to rest for a while."

Looking slightly crestfallen, Aiin nodded and went on without him, while Anakin hastily retreated into the darkened room beyond the kitchen and fell onto the bed, trying to ease the furious pounding of his heart. _It's impossible,_ he told himself sternly, but no, there was no mistaking what he knew so well!

Whomever that ilum crystal had once belonged to, at some point, it had been cut to fit into a lightsaber—a lightsaber the same color as Anakin's.


	7. Magic

For once, Anakin was not the first one up the next morning. Instead, he was awoken by a hand on his shoulder shaking him gently. He had not fallen asleep until very late the previous night, and now his body clung desperately to slumber. The hand shook harder; Anakin rolled over and blearily uttered something that sounded like, "Ummph."

"Anakin, wake up," came Master Windu's voice, cutting into Anakin's sleep-drugged existence like a blaster bolt. "The _Bainyeta_ want to see us now."

With a fantastic yawn, Anakin sat up and made a wild grab for his tunic, lying on the floor. He moved quickly, knowing if he gave himself time to relax he would simply fall back asleep. Windu watched him dress with concern in his gaze.

"How did you sleep?"

Anakin shrugged, wondering privately what the consequences would be for lying outright to a Jedi Master on the Council. "Fine. Why?"

Windu did not answer right away, and Anakin spoke again, hoping to get off the topic of his sleeping habits as he pulled his cloak over his shoulders. "So, are we trying to persuade them to stay here, or what?" he asked. Windu led the way out the door, and Anakin followed.

"Today," Windu replied, "we are only listening."

The livable part of Ryloth remained in a state of perpetual dim daylight, and its inhabitants simply closed their windows and turned off the lamps when darkness should have come. Even though it was early morning, it was perfectly bright outdoors; Anakin blinked several times, trying to adjust his eyes to the light and keep up with Windu at the same time.

They must have walked at least a mile before Windu even slowed his pace. As they walked, the houses grew fewer and farther between, until the Jedi had left the town completely and entered the forest surrounding it.

Dead leaves crunched underfoot; from somewhere, Anakin heard a goshawk scream and flap away at their approach. They had only breached the first few yards of the forest when a voice came suddenly from behind them.

"Master Windu—"

Anakin whirled, taken by surprise; Windu, far more aware of his surroundings than the Padawan, did not seem perturbed in the slightest. Before them stood a young Twi'lek woman, blue-skinned, with a knowing little half-smile on her face.

"I'm glad to see that the powers that be on Coruscant consider our predicament worthy of their attention," she finished. "Ryloth is often overlooked by those who are not spice miners, although I can assure you that our problems are no less important."

Windu nodded in acknowledgement. "The Council would be greatly in the wrong to dismiss your planet so easily," he said pleasantly. "However, you are, I presume, aware of the fact that the Jedi can take neither side in this argument? We are only peacemakers, not mercenaries."

The woman gave an impatient wave of her hand. "Yes, I know," she said abruptly. "So I must plead my case before you, is that it? Very well." She motioned for them to sit down on a rotting log a few feet away, and took her place easily on the ground. Her jaw was set firmly, her eyes hard. Anakin was given the very forceful impression that, whatever it was she believed in, she would fight for it with all her heart and die for it if necessary. It was not an unfamiliar look; he had seen it several times before, and always in the faces of rebels, for they were the ones who needed this strange strength if they were to succeed in their impossible quests.

"My name is Hayla," she began. "Hayla Dae'on, and I have lived all my life on Ryloth. Even since before the time of my birth, Ryloth's population has been growing exponentially."

Anakin's fist closed around the lightsaber at his side as she spoke—his thoughts wandered back to the ilum crystal around Aiin's neck, thumping against her chest with every step. _Concentrate,_ he told himself, attempting to focus on Hayla's words, but Anakin had never been good at diplomatic affairs even when he was wide awake.

"I can easily sympathize with your position," broke in Windu to her list of complaints, "but it seems to me that moving the entire population would be an extremely difficult task, if not impossible."

And Hayla was off again, rattling off numbers and statistics and ideas, as Anakin listened with only half an ear, doing his best to look interested while not understanding a word she said. Maybe Master Windu was right—maybe he should get some sleep, just lie down for a moment when they got back to the house, and maybe his dreams would leave him be, just this once…

Suddenly Windu was standing up, politely taking his leave, and Anakin hastened to follow suit. Hayla looked distinctly dissatisfied, as though she had expected the Jedi to hasten to arms for her cause, but as far as Anakin could tell, nothing much at all had come of the meeting. The two Jedi left the small clearing walking side by side, and when they were out of earshot, Anakin had to speak.

"That was their leader?" he asked. "Just her?" From Windu's description, he had created a mental image of several large men with blasters across their backs. The Master shook his head.

"She was elected to speak with us, but she is not the only leader of their group," he answered. "From what I have been made to understand, there are several that are considered leaders in this scheme." He paused, as though considering. "But it will fail, no matter how dedicated they are to it."

This caught at Anakin's attention. "Why?" he asked. Windu never stopped walking as he replied.

"Because the Twi'lek people have only made this place their own for all the hardships they must endure with it. Someone gets lost in the snow, someone dies of thirst in the desert—that is the price they must pay. All the rebels are young, because the young only consider momentary happiness, while those who have lived here for decades understand the worth of something considered worthless by everyone else." Anakin looked straight ahead of him, but he could feel Windu's heavy gaze upon him as the Master spoke again. "They would say that it is better to suffer for something that you love."

Anakin did not reply, and they walked the rest of the way back to Ere's home in silence.

Aiin was waiting outside as they approached. Windu went inside, presumably to give Ere an update, and the girl ran up to Anakin.

"Where were you?" she demanded. "I was waiting for you to wake up, and then I found out that you were already gone!"

Anakin shrugged guiltily. "I had to go meet with someone," he said by way of apology.

"What for?"

"Just to talk."

Aiin made a face. "I thought Jedi got to fight with laser swords," she complained. "Don't you do any of that?"

Ordinarily, Anakin probably would have just taken the lightsaber out, shown it to her, and put it away. But it felt like forever since he had been given the opportunity to use his lightsaber, and with a sensation of recklessness and mild excitement, Anakin grinned and knelt down to meet her eye level.

"You want to see what I can do with my laser sword?" he asked. Aiin nodded, her eyes wide with anticipation. Anakin had a feeling that showing off for a nine-year-old might earn some sort of disapproval from Master Windu, so he led Aiin to an empty space behind her house, with scattered trees around them. It wasn't the most secret of locations, but at least it wasn't out in the open either.

With a flick of his wrist Anakin took the lightsaber from his belt and activated it, taking care to keep a safe distance away from Aiin. She gasped as the blade extended from its hilt with a hiss, then cried out in delight as he began a mock battle with some invisible opponent, leaving split-second trails of light as he sliced his weapon through the air. Afraid that Aiin would grow bored, Anakin stopped after only a few katas—he needn't have worried.

"Do it again!" the girl pleaded, her eyes sparkling. "Oh, please—"

Anakin looked down at her lovely little face, shining with enthusiasm and wonder. _Force, I am going to get in so much trouble for this…_

Again, he knelt beside her. "I have a better idea," Anakin propositioned. "Do you want to try it?"

He didn't have to ask twice; already Aiin's small hands were clasped tightly around the hilt of his lightsaber as she pulled it toward herself. Anakin almost had a heart attack.

"No, wait, wait!" He took it from her quickly, fumbled with it for a moment as he switched the power setting down, then handed it carefully back to her. Now the worst she could do was give herself a third-degree burn, which Anakin had every intention of preventing.

Crouching down behind Aiin, Anakin closed his hands around hers to guide her movements, giving her instructions. "Step forward…good, now raise your left elbow a little more…no, your _left_ elbow…the other one…ok, now _slowly _swing the lightsaber around—careful, careful!"

It was a very fortunate thing, Anakin decided then, that Jedi were forbidden to marry—if he ever had a daughter, she would be the most spoiled creature that ever lived. He had met Aiin only a day ago, and already he could refuse her nothing.

After fifteen minutes or so of this activity, Anakin declared lightsaber time to have officially ended. Disappointed but still exhilarated by her Jedi-like experience, Aiin sat down on the ground beside Anakin, who put the lightsaber back on his belt where it belonged.

"That was fun!" Aiin declared with a laugh. She was wearing the ilum crystal around her neck again, and the sight of it reminded Anakin of the question that had been nagging at the back of his mind all day. Almost without meaning to, he reached forward and cupped the little gem in his hand.

"Aiin," he said softly, "Who gave this to you? You didn't say."

The little girl shrugged carelessly. "I don't remember his name—I don't think he told me. He's really_ nice_, though. He saw me looking at this, and he said I could have it if I wanted."

"Do you know where he got it?"

She shook her head, impatient of the questions already. "He didn't tell me that either. Papa said he must be a trader, because no one else would have this kind of crystal." Aiin straightened suddenly, her eyes alight with sudden excitement as she remembered something. "He showed me a magic trick!" she said. "It was amazing!" As she spoke, she unfastened the necklace from around her neck so that chain and crystal lay heavy in her hand. "He had this little ball in his hand—and then he turned his hand over, just like this—" Aiin demonstrated, and the pendent slid to the ground. "But instead of doing that, it stuck to his hand! It just _stayed_ there!"

Anakin swallowed—his mouth seemed to have gone very dry all of a sudden. He picked the necklace out of the dirt and weighed it in the flat of his hand for a moment, then flipped his palm over, just as Aiin had done. A thread of the Force was all it took to keep the ilum crystal next to his skin, while the golden chain hung downward.

"Like that, you mean?" Anakin asked her, but the smugness had gone out of his tone. Aiin nodded, awed; Anakin closed his fingers around the crystal for a moment, then handed it back to her. _It can't be,_ he thought. _It's impossible…_

"Do you know where he lives?" Anakin asked. "Could you take me there?"

"Oh, sure," Aiin replied easily. "Do you want to go now?"

Anakin hesitated. "Yes," he said finally. "As soon as possible."

Already Aiin was on her feet. "Come on!" she said. "Let's go, then!" She didn't see the slight tremble in Anakin's hands as he stood, and if she had, she would hardly have understood. To her, Anakin's request was a simple, strange whim which she was happy to oblige. She took his hand again and began leading him deeper into the forest.

"He's just on the other side of the trees," Aiin explained. "It's less than a mile, Papa says."

Anakin did not answer, and there were no more words for as long as they walked. Aiin seemed to realize that, although it was beyond her comprehension, something enormous was happening, and was sufficiently impressed to keep silent. Anakin, for his part, would hardly have been able to speak coherently through the knot of apprehension in his stomach.

Finally they came out of the woods. Anakin blinked several times—only a few feet away from him was a sheer, blank cliff face of at least twenty feet. "Uh…are you sure this is the right place?" he asked Aiin. She laughed at his confusion, and pointed to a spot behind him. Anakin turned to see an opening in the sand-colored cliff face, difficult to see unless you were specifically looking for it.

"He's right through there," Aiin explained. "There's some old house in there that no one uses, so he's staying in there for now. I was exploring around here when I found him." She moved to lead Anakin through the gap, but Anakin stopped her.

"I—" He began, unsure of how to say this. "Aiin, could you…could you wait for me? I need to go in there by myself, I think."

Aiin frowned in confusion, but nodded cheerfully and stepped backward. Without daring to think twice, Anakin ducked his head and stepped through the rock. As soon as he raised his head, he saw that Aiin had been right—only about fifty feet from where Anakin now stood was a low, very small stone building, alone in its vigil against the surrounding high stone walls. He approached the house tentatively—his heart was pounding furiously, fluttering anxiously in his chest like a bird trying to escape its cage—but didn't knock. He couldn't dare it, could not bear to be wrong.

_I can't do it,_ Anakin faltered, stumbling back away from the door as though it had bitten him. _I shouldn't have come here. I can't do this!_

Suddenly there were footsteps behind him. Caught unawares, Anakin whirled around—

—and found himself looking into a pair of light blue eyes.


	8. Double The Fall

So great was Anakin's longing, so deep his desire, that for an instant he _did_ see Obi-Wan standing before him. Then, like a slow, drowning wave, Anakin became aware of the fact that this man was taller than Obi-Wan, his hair was dark and tinged with gray, his eyes were farther apart, his features were wider, his face older, his mouth too small.

"Can I help you with something, son?" the man asked.

_Oh, Force, what have I done?_

Fragile, cherished hope was thrown to the ground and crushed underfoot, and Anakin felt the pain of it like nothing he had ever experienced before. He opened his mouth to scream, but not a sound came out. He waited for the tears to come, but not a one fell. He swayed, expected to faint, but somehow remained standing. His mind had detached itself completely from his body, rising upward to glory in its sorrow, almost as if Anakin had died.

He felt a cold, lifeless emptiness rising within him, seeming to encompass every part of his body and mind, scourging all in its path as it grew. His arms and legs had grown numb—Anakin tried to move them, and looking down saw his fingers twitching, but it was as though someone else moved them for him.

"Son? You all right?" There was concern in the man's voice. Anakin, as though waking up from a long, deathly sleep, tried to speak, but barely a sound escaped his lips before his voice cracked harshly. The man stepped forward and took his arm, a worried frown creased into his forehead.

"You'd better come inside," he said. "You don't look so good."

Anakin obeyed listlessly, moving as directed and hardly acknowledging his surroundings as he was led inside. The room he saw was furnished simply, with only two worn chairs around a dusty old table, covered with the most random objects Anakin could imagine. The man motioned Anakin toward a chair, and the Jedi sat, staring down at his hands unseeing.

"Now, son, I have to ask, what in the blazes are you doing out here?" the man asked, rummaging through the mess on the table until he found whatever it was he was looking for. "After all, not many people have call to come out to the middle of nowhere, searching for a stranger."

He shoved something into Anakin's hand, and Anakin took it automatically, not ever taking his eyes off his lap. He could hardly feel his heart beating at all. The man was waiting for an reply, but Anakin could no more have answered him than he could have jumped from here to the moon.

"All right, then," said the man cheerfully, undaunted. "Let's start simpler. What's your name?"

Anakin blinked slowly. _Name. My name_.Truth be told, he could barely remember; even the most reflexive responses were now immensely difficult. "Anakin," he whispered. As though for the first time, he saw the rough wooden cup in his hand.

"Drink it," the man ordered. "Go on—it'll make you feel better."

_If only,_ Anakin thought miserably, but again he obeyed without thinking, touching his lips to the hot liquid inside the cup. On any other day he would have been ashamed of his circumstances—being treated like a lost child was hardly proper for a Jedi Padawan of nearly twenty—but it didn't even occur to him to apologize and leave. After standing on false hopes for so long, and then having them suddenly torn out from beneath him, Anakin had to lean on _something_, or he would fall. He put the cup to his mouth again, and this time actually drank.

"So, Anakin," the man said, "you want to explain to me what you're doing out here? Don't tell me you're lost."

Anakin tried to speak, failed, then cleared his throat and tried again. "No," he managed. "I'm not lost. I—I was looking for someone."

The man's eyebrows raised in interest, and he pulled up the other chair to sit opposite Anakin, leaning forward. "And what makes you think your friend will be out here?"

The liquid in Anakin's cup trembled. "Aiin Nifora," he said at last. "You gave her a crystal—"

"Oh, yes, the little Twi'lek girl," the man said knowingly. "She's very sweet, isn't she? Those ilum crystals aren't so easy to come by, you know—they're worth enough that it was probably foolish of me to let her have it, but she looked so blasted happy with it I just couldn't take it from her." He paused, digesting Anakin's words. "So you think it belonged to your friend? Well, I hate to burst your bubble, Anakin, but I got that crystal out of an old lightsaber on Tatooine."

Anakin started visibly. "What?" In his astonishment, his voice was perfectly clear, an abrupt change from the bleary words that had dropped from his lips only seconds ago.

The man nodded. "Sure. You've heard of 'em, right? Jedi swords, very powerful—"

Faster than he would have thought possible a few seconds ago, Anakin grabbed the lightsaber from his belt and slammed it loudly onto the table. "I know what a lightsaber is," he snapped. The man's eyes widened.

"So…I take it you didn't steal this, then," he said quietly. "Your friend—he's a Jedi too?"

Anakin nodded. "Where did you get the lightsaber?"

The man shrugged. "A couple guys approached me with it the night before I was about to leave. Said they'd heard there was a trader in town, and they wanted to know if it was worth anything. Course, they weren't doing it for the money, I could tell. They wanted to get rid of it. I figured they were scared the owner would come looking for it."

Anakin cleared his throat. "Do you remember…what it looked like? The lightsaber, I mean."

With a long, thoughtful sigh, the man sat back in his chair. "Don't recall much of it—just looked like yours, really, or at least it did to me. I remember it had a rounded end, though, with these square little spikes on it. Thought that was pretty unusual."

Anakin jerked so violently that the cup was dashed to the floor, its contents spilling over the dirt. "Oh, Force…" The words came out in an anguished groan. "Force, it was his…it was _his_…" It made no sense, it was _wrong_! Every sign, every last little hint, had pointed to Obi-Wan's being alive and here—it was like finding every clue to a mystery, confidently winding up every loose thread, and then finding out that the culprit was someone entirely different from your suspect. It had Obi-Wan's name written all over it, and yet somehow he was missing still.

"I don't understand," Anakin mumbled. "It was supposed to be—everything she said—" He broke off, gasped for breath; he had to get a hold of himself, had to be strong. Anakin forced his chin up, to look into the man's eyes. "When Aiin described you," he said, his voice shaking only the tiniest bit, "I had hoped that—you were my friend." _Hope._ Hated, cruel, despicable word, lifting his spirits only just enough to cause the inevitable fall to cause him pain. The man shook his head, but there was sadness behind his eyes.

"Oh, son, I'm no Jedi," he said with a small smile.

"She said that you showed her a magic trick—it made me think—"

The man's smile widened slightly, and from the pocket of his trousers he pulled a small sphere, made from some black metal. Placing it on his right palm, he performed exactly the trick Aiin had emulated earlier.

"That?" the man asked. Anakin nodded dumbly, and the man made a regretful noise, holding out his right hand for Anakin to see. Both the palm and fingers were studded with tiny bits of some dark, dull metal embedded under the skin.

"Bad luck," the man explained for Anakin's confused expression. "Some son of a bantha with a grudge against me tucked a bomb made of orophite into my suitcase. Very mild, more intended to give me a good scare than anything, but the blasted thing blew up in my face." He looked down at his palm. "I've only got a few light scars on my cheek—can barely see them—but they couldn't quite get all the pieces out of my hand, so I put some synthflesh over 'em, and I'm as good as new."

Anakin must still have looked bewildered, because the man elaborated further. "Orophite's quite magnetic—very difficult to mine because, in large quantities, it's almost impossible to separate from itself. In smaller quantities, though, like that little ball and what's in my hand, it just makes for good entertainment."

Funny, Anakin thought dimly, it was suddenly very difficult to breathe. He stood abruptly. "I'm sorry to have troubled you," he managed, "I should…" His voice trailed off weakly, and without another word Anakin had left, stepping suddenly into the hot, bright sunlight and making his way toward the forest.

"Son!" the man called from the doorway. Against his better judgment, Anakin turned. The man's face was sympathetic. "I hope you find your friend."

Something almost physical hit Anakin's heart, and he stood stock still—the blood drained from his face. That insane, unnatural laughter was back, rolling up his throat, and Anakin had to fight to keep it down. It was a while before he could answer.

"Thank you," Anakin said, inwardly astounded at how calm his voice sounded. It was as though it came from another's mouth, another who had not just seen their life fall before their eyes. "But there's no chance of that. He's dead, you see."

With that, he turned and strode away, not once looking back over his shoulder.

* * *

No sooner had Anakin reached Ere's house than he collapsed onto the bed, his shaking legs unable to hold him any longer—he could not have moved if someone had held a blaster to his head. There was less grief in this helplessness than there was simple, blank astonishment; Anakin felt as though someone had hit him over the head so hard that his brain had completely shut down.

Aiin, quickly bored of waiting near the cliff, had migrated back to her house during Anakin's encounter with the trader-who-was-not-Obi-Wan. When he returned, Aiin could hardly understand his sudden lethargy, and Anakin made no attempt to explain it to her—he had taken one look at the crystal around her neck and turned away, thinking for sure that he would be sick.

As it turned out, this fateful day also happened to be their last on Ryloth. Anakin didn't quite understand the reason, but he had heard Master Windu say something about negotiations being settled peacefully and our help being no longer needed, and that was good enough for him. He had no idea what the solution they had come up with was, but then again, Anakin could not have cared less if the entire population of Twi'eks stayed where they were, moved to Hoth, or got eaten by a rancor. Well, maybe he would care if Aiin got eaten, he admitted grudgingly to himself, but why, oh _why_ had he asked about the necklace?

After an hour or so, sensation returned slowly to Anakin's arms and legs. Sitting by himself, huddled on the bed with his legs tucked under him, he rubbed the fingers of his left hand with his right distractedly. The feeling in his limbs was back, but that frightening coldness in his stomach refused to dissipate. It remained even as Windu entered and told him that the ship was waiting for them, and when Anakin went outdoors to follow Windu back to the meadow where they had landed.

Ere had apologized, saying that while he was very sorry he could not escort them to their ship, more, immediate negotiations with the _Bainyeta_ were necessary, and he wished them a safe journey. Aiin, however, was bound by no such scruples, and she walked beside Anakin the whole way. When they finally reached the ship, its ramp already lowered and its engine started, Anakin started to walk toward it, but Aiin pulled at his arm.

"Are you coming back?" she asked, looking up at him with eyes that pleaded for an affirmative answer. Even now, Anakin couldn't make himself lie to her.

"No," he said finally. "Probably not. I'm sorry."

Aiin's face crumpled in disappointment, but she bravely pulled herself together. Gulping, she quickly pulled the pendant over her head and held it out to Anakin.

"Will you take this, then?" she asked, her voice shaking and small. "So you—so you don't forget me?"

Anakin's heart nearly broke in two. Aiin had no idea what she asked of him, but Anakin would rather have seen that crystal at the bottom of a lake or floating somewhere in space. He wanted nothing to do with it, but he could hardly refuse such a request. Careful not to allow his reluctance to show on his face, Anakin reached out and took the little crystal in his hand. It felt hot, as though it would burn a hole in his palm.

"I won't forget you, okay?" Anakin told Aiin. "I promise."

She nodded, and Anakin turned away, moving quickly toward the ship. Windu was already inside, waiting for him in the cockpit. Anakin came in and closed the door behind him, not saying a word. The pendant he shoved roughly into his pocket—he didn't want to look at it, but he could still feel it bumping against his thigh.

"Ready to go?" Windu asked, not looking at Anakin as he punched in the hyperspace coordinates and began lifting them out of the atmosphere. Anakin nodded.

"Yes," he said softly. "I'm ready, Master."


	9. The Destructive Properties of Fire

The return trip took only two days, but to Anakin it felt like an eternity. At first, every moment was spent agonizing over what in the Force he was supposed to do with Obi-Wan's lightsaber crystal—Anakin didn't want it anywhere near him, and yet at the same time he couldn't make himself throw it away. Eventually he compromised by leaving the necklace in the hold and feeling guilty about it.

When they finally reached Coruscant, Anakin retrieved the crystal from the hold and took it into the Temple. Under normal circumstances, he supposed, they would have had to report back to the Council, but considering that Master Windu was _on_ the Council, this wasn't the case. Instead, Anakin went straight to his room as soon as they landed, while Windu presumably went to the Council chamber.

Once there, Anakin spend the next twenty minutes lying on his bed, staring idly up at the ceiling and twisting the thin, gold chain around his fingers. His thoughts ran in a monotonous circle, one that had no feasible conclusion: _I can't throw it out, because it belonged to Obi-Wan. I can't keep it; it used to belong to Obi-Wan. I can't give it away, it belonged to Obi-Wan._ _But I can't throw it out—_

Anakin sat straight up in bed and sank his head into his hands. _Damned thing_, he thought savagely. This would never have been a problem if Aiin hadn't given it to him, but now that he had it, he could neither keep it nor get rid of it.

At last, he reached a solution, and no sooner had Anakin thought of it than it seemed completely obvious: he would leave the crystal in Obi-Wan's room, at the heart of the problem, and there it would stay, locked up alongside every random piece of memorabilia that had the power to hurt him so badly. Snatching up the offending piece of jewelry from where it had fallen on his bed, Anakin headed for his former Master's chambers with quick, purposeful steps.

His intention was to walk in, put the crystal on the bed, and walk out for the last time. In theory, it all worked out quite well, but reality told a different story. No sooner had Anakin set foot in the apartment than he stopped. Something was different, something had changed—he didn't need the Force to tell him that, but he couldn't put his finger on what it was. There was no large article of furniture missing: the shelves, the sleep couch, the small bedside table were all in their usual spots. Puzzled, Anakin turned in a slow circle, looking about the room for his answer—and then it hit him.

The spare pieces of flimsy Obi-Wan had kept on his table was gone—the datachip Anakin had seen when last he had been in here had disappeared as well—the boot sticking out from underneath the bed had vanished. In fact, there was nothing that suggested a sentient being had ever lived in this room at all. Obi-Wan's surprising lack of personal possessions had kept Anakin from realizing the truth right away.

All the breath seemed to have left Anakin's lungs—he sank down against the wall, unconsciously holding the necklace tightly in his fist. Dimly, he understood that this was customary, nothing to be shocked about—after all, the Temple housed several thousand Jedi Knights, and it could hardly be expected to keep this room a memorial—but somehow Anakin had managed to forget this fact, and now it was a little too late to prepare himself.

It was as though Obi-Wan had vanished completely, as though he had never existed. Human memories were weak; without a single physical trace of Obi-Wan Kenobi, who was to say that he had ever lived at all?

_This is your chance,_ said a voice in Anakin's head suddenly. _Break all ties, forget your past._ For how could he continue to live when he was crippled by grief, consumed in the knowledge of what he had lost? No, it would be easier to forget everything, to play along and pretend that Obi-Wan had never been.

Almost without thinking, Anakin looked down and fingered the sleeve of his tunic. When he had first come to the Temple, he had purposely chosen the darkest attire possible for a Jedi, for reasons Anakin couldn't even remember now. Maybe he had liked the mystery they seemed to entail, maybe he had wanted to stand out. It was also entirely possible that he had done it simply to annoy Obi-Wan, but whatever the reason, the garment was reminiscent of a past that Anakin no longer wanted, and it had to go.

He looked up at Obi-Wan's chronometer—at the chronometer on the wall, Anakin reminded himself sternly—and saw to his surprise that he had been sitting here for over an hour. Darkness had fallen, and the Temple was asleep by now. Suddenly spurred to action, Anakin rose, still clutching the necklace in his right hand.

* * *

The Temple storerooms were on the other side of the building, and it took Anakin at least fifteen minutes to get there. Each enormous room held a variety of items, all in the same category: one contained medicines and healing tools, another foodstuffs, another training equipment. Normally, apprentices weren't allowed in these rooms without specific permission from their Masters, but Anakin had never followed the rules very scrupulously even before Obi-Wan's death. Walking quickly, he bypassed all these superfluous doors and stopped before the last one. Anakin took one quick look around to make sure that there was no one else about, then stepped inside.

As soon as he did so, the lights automatically came on. Anakin blinked, his eyes accustomed to darkness. The shelves of this room appeared almost never-ending; they stretched for seventy feet, at the very least, and on them were piled countless, neatly-folded stacks of clothing. This was where all traditional Jedi garb was stored until a new initiate came to the Temple, or a Knight tore a tunic beyond repair.

The clothing was arranged by size—Anakin had to walk a long way down the aisle before he found a tunic that would fit him. It was brown, several shades lighter than his current one, with layered white under-robes. Anakin snatched it from the shelf and a pair of pants to match, and then he was gone again, the lights flickering off as the door shut behind him.

Where could he go? Simply throwing his old clothes away would not do—Anakin wanted them gone, destroyed, until there was nothing but fine dust to remind him of everything that had once been. He pondered this problem for a moment, standing in the middle of the hall. An idea came to him—but no, it was too bold, he did not dare. And yet somehow, Anakin found himself moving toward the center of the Temple, to the stairs that would take him higher than almost anyone in the city.

There was a lift for pragmatic purposes, as it was almost a thousand steps to the room at the top of the tallest spire of the Temple. When a Jedi was killed, those who came to the burning ceremony—the Council, the deceased's Padawan or Master, and close friends—took the stairs, with the Padawan or Master leading the single-file line of Jedi. If, for some reason, it was necessary to access the burning chamber when there was no ceremony, for cleaning or some such chore, then the lift would be used. Anakin did not hesitate, but placed his foot on the first step.

_His hand holds mine as we walk up the stairs together, guiding me on an unfamiliar path. Looking up, I can see the pain in his eyes—wherever we are going, he will not like it._

_My legs ache with every step—I've never seen such a long staircase before, and it always keeps going, winding on and on until it makes me dizzy to think about it. I don't think he ever gets tired; he just keeps walking, and walking, with his eyes straight ahead. I can't slow down, because he's holding my hand, and sometimes it feels like he's pulling me ahead. I can't help it—my legs trembling, I stumble and fall, scraping my palms against the sharp edges of the stairs._

_Everyone stops—I can hear them murmuring behind me. His hand still covering mine, he helps me to my feet and kneels down beside me. He brushes his thumb against my bleeding hand._

"_Are you all right?"_

_I nod mutely. They're ready to keep going, but he stops them again, still kneeling at my side. I can see the concern in his eyes, veiling the pain for a moment. "Here," he says quietly, lifting me into his arms. He carries me the rest of the way._

Anakin faltered on step 372, almost stumbling to the ground. He pressed a hand to the wall and waited a moment to regain his balance. He looked down and saw, for the first time in ten years, a thin, almost indiscernible smear of blood on the marble stair. A deep, shaking breath filled Anakin's lungs, and he kept going, walking, and walking, with his eyes straight ahead. His lips moved silently as he unconsciously counted each step. Three hundred eighty-eight, eighty-nine, ninety, ninety-one…

When at last he reached the top, the darkness seemed overpowering, held back by only the feeble, flickering torches on the five pillars around the room. There were no windows, no walls, just a lot of empty space between each column. It gave Anakin an unpleasant sense of vulnerability, as though all of Coruscant was watching his most private moments.

He took a long breath, preparing himself, and then in one swift motion Anakin grabbed one of the torches and threw it on the waiting pyre. Instantly it burst into flame, waiting to consume up a body that was not there. Under its sudden light, Anakin let his cloak fall to the ground, then pulled his tunic over his head and tossed it into the fire. It burned easily, but it had scarcely touched the flames when Anakin stripped off his pants and threw them in as well.

It was over before he knew it—somehow he had not expected it to happen so quickly. Tongues of fire lapped at his clothing, swallowing them up until nothing remained but little burning piles of ash. Gradually realizing that it had nothing more to feed on, the pyre fire died within minutes, and Anakin watched it fade. When at last there was nothing but embers, Anakin came to himself enough to pull on the robes he had taken from the storeroom.

He had not expected them to be so heavy, he thought as he belted them around his waist. They pulled him down with a solemn weightiness; Anakin almost felt as though simply wearing them could make you a better Jedi somehow. He reached for the cloak on the ground, and felt a hard lump tucked into one of its folds. The necklace—he had forgotten to burn that as well. There was no need to start the fire again; the gold would melt easily, and the ilum crystal would fade and tarnish until it was nothing but a lump of coal. Anakin held it over the pyre, almost dropped it in, and then stopped.

Against his will, Anakin's mind replayed the scene of Obi-Wan's eerily empty room, reflecting no traces of the man who had once lived there. Anakin had no mementos of his Master that he had not lost or destroyed in the past, not knowing of the value they would possess one day had he only kept them. Human memories _were _weak—and to entirely forget Obi-Wan Kenobi, the great, perfect Jedi Knight, was nothing but a dishonoring.

His fingers trembled—oh, how badly he wanted to let go! But in the end, respect won over sorrow. Bowing his head, Anakin slipped the long golden chain over his head, the ilum crystal resting heavily on his chest, the one spot of color on his dull Jedi robes. Rather than hide it under his robes, he let it stay there. For as long as he lived, he would make all who saw him remember the man who had loved him when he was nothing. Anakin pulled the cloak over his shoulders, tugged the hood over his eyes, and began his long walk down the darkened stairway.

* * *

Rather than die down during dark hours, Coruscant only truly became alive in night, so it was only natural that several people should see the fire that burned for a short time in the spire of the Jedi Temple. Some forgot it as soon as they turned away—others remembered, and casually mentioned it to their friends with the same detached sympathy with which one treats the victims of a disaster far, far away from oneself. By morning, almost everyone in the vicinity knew, but did not care, that one more Jedi had been killed last night. 


	10. A Past and Future Pain

Anakin, standing before Windu's door, raised a hand to knock, then lowered it in apprehension. It was too early, his Master would still be sleeping, or perhaps meditating—but this _was_ important. He tapped lightly on the door with his knuckle, and an answering voice called, "Come in."

The door slid open at his touch, and Anakin stepped inside Windu's room to find the Master sitting calmly on his sleep couch. At his entrance, Windu looked up with an amiable expression on his face.

"Can I help you with something?" he asked. Anakin took a breath.

"I need to talk to you, Master," he said. "It's important, I think."

Windu's eyebrows lifted in mild curiosity, and he moved over on the bed to allow Anakin room to sit. Anakin did so, his hands buried nervously in his cloak.

"I had a dream last night," he began.

"About Obi-Wan?" Windu asked. Anakin shook his head, waving a hand dismissively at this suggestion; he had not dreamed about Obi-Wan in over a month now, ever since the night in the burning chamber.

"No, it was about—" Anakin bit his lip. It had seemed vital that Windu know about this while he had been walking over here, but now that Anakin was talking to him, he wasn't exactly sure _why_. "I don't really know what it was about. It wasn't very clear—just a bunch of images that kept flashing over and over."

"What were these images?" Windu prodded him. Anakin hesitated, trying to remember.

"There was a—a child, standing above me somewhere. And then he jumped—or maybe not, but somehow he was falling towards me…" Anakin shut his eyes tightly, concentrating. "And then there were people, four—no, three people—and I could see them crying, because—because—" Suddenly, what he had not realized in the dream, he understood now. He opened his eyes. "They were crying because the child was dead."

Windu's expression was one of utmost thought. "Do you remember anything else?" he asked. Anakin shook his head.

"I know there was more," he said, "but I don't know what it was."

Windu nodded, and after a moment, Anakin dared to ask a question. "Do you think—" he began. "Was it anything at all?"

Slowly, Windu let out his breath. "It could be nothing," he admitted. "Simply a dream." Anakin's shoulders relaxed unconsciously. "But…it could also be a vision of the Force."

Anakin started. "Master, I can't have a _vision_," he protested. "I'm not Master Yoda!"

"But you are the Chosen One," Windu reminded him. "It is to be expected that you possess a greater knowledge of the Force than that of your peers."

"But I _don't_, that's the thing!" Anakin burst out. "Somebody like—like Ferus, he'd do better than I would with the Force."

"Then it would be assumed," said Windu, "that you simply have not reached your full potential. Anakin, you have more than twice the number of Ferus's midichlorians; it's only common sense that, acting—as you will eventually—at your full capability, you would have more than twice the power." He paused for a moment. "Perhaps 'power' is not exactly the right word to use, but you understand what I'm saying."

Anakin nodded distractedly. "I just don't think that I'm strong enough in the Force to have a _vision_," he said, again placing that same awed emphasis on the word. Visions were granted only to people like Master Windu and Master Yoda—those on the Council, with years of experience to speak of. Suggesting that he, Anakin, might have had a Force-vision was, in his mind, the equivalent of suggesting that he run for Supreme Chancellor: not only quite impossible, but stupid as well.

"Well," Windu said, shrugging, "I would not dismiss it entirely. Of course, it could be nothing but a nightmare, but keep an open mind. And if you see any falling children, let me know."

With a grin, Anakin nodded. "Thank you, Master," he said, and left the room. Tucking the dream into a back corner of his mind to be deliberated later, he headed to the mess hall for breakfast.

In a rare burst of lethargy that came as soon as he had finished breakfast, Anakin decided not to go to the training room as was normal, and instead wandered toward the Room of a Thousand Fountains. It was largely empty, with only a few Knights standing around and talking. He sat down on the low stone wall that surrounded the small fountain nearest him and distractedly let his hand fall into the cold water.

"Hey," said a voice from above him. Anakin looked up, to see Ferus standing beside him. He grinned, remembering Windu's words.

"Haven't seen you in a while," greeted Anakin, drying his fingers on his cloak and patting the stone next to him. Ferus took the invitation and sat down.

"I know—you were gone a long time," he said. Though they weren't speaking particularly loudly, the sheer, overpowering size of this room made them feel as though they were shouting. "Where were you again, Dantooine?"

Anakin nodded. "The Council thought there might be a holocron left there from the training center that Master Bass established during the Sith Wars. Can you imagine what we could do with something like that? I mean, to know what Jedi were being taught thousands of years ago!"

"Did you find it?" Ferus prodded. Anakin looked almost sheepish as he answered.

"No, we didn't find anything at all," he admitted, a slightly irritated look on his face. "Took us a week, and it was nothing but a waste of time. All we did was walk through ruins."

Ferus shrugged. "Good exercise, at least," he pointed out with a smile. He opened his mouth to say something else, but was interrupted by the sound of running footsteps from far above them. Simultaneously, the Padawans looked up. The ceiling of this room transcended several floors of the Temple, and on the third floor, they could see three dark little shapes pounding past the railings as fast as they could go. Squinting, Anakin could make out the faces of two: a girl with red hair whose name he didn't know, and a wiry boy called Kahli. Over the sudden noise of the energetic youngsters, who were shrieking with laughter over some private joke, the apprentices resumed their conversation.

"You and Master Windu seem to be getting along well," Ferus said. "I wouldn't have expected that."

Anakin laughed softly. "He's certainly much more serious than Obi-Wan ever was," he said, "but it's nice to be back to normal. And I'm grateful to him for taking me…" His voice trailed off. He _was_ grateful; very much so. Not many Jedi Masters on the Council would have consented to take a Padawan of nineteen. Missing Obi-Wan was inevitable, of course, but at last Anakin was learning to move on. Gone was the fathomless, soul-wrenching sorrow that had first accompanied him everywhere; now, there was only private, quiet grief.

Above them, the children had finished with whatever game they were playing, and were now playing a game that involved climbing on the outside of the balustrade, sticking their feet between the bars and holding on tightly to the connecting railing. Anakin watched them idly from across the room, leaning back until his head almost touched the stream of water. Kahli noticed him, and, hungry for attention, let go with one hand to wave eagerly at Anakin.

"Hey, look what I can do!" he shouted, his voice ringing off the walls as he demonstrated his one-hand trick. Anakin grinned as he watched

"Be careful," he warned, "or you could—fall—oh _krif_—!"

He jumped to his feet, racing forward as fast as he could, hardly noticing Ferus's startled stare. But in a second, Ferus's eyes were on him no longer, for from across the room, Kahli's fingers had slipped, and he was falling, faster than anyone below him could have reacted. The Knights were already running toward him, but they would be too late—

Anakin's heart was pounding furiously. Fear shot through him with every step—if he didn't make it, if Kahli fell to his death, somehow it would be _his_ fault for having seen it happen. He didn't think to use the Force—terrified, he only closed his eyes and prayed that he would not be too late.

And suddenly, miracle of miracles—something heavy and small fell into his arms, trembling from head to toe.

Kahli's arms were wrapped around his neck; carefully, Anakin untangled them and set the little boy down. About the same time that he noticed the people standing around them, unable to believe what had just happened, he also realized that he couldn't breathe. Gasping for air, Anakin sank down on the fountain edge closest to him; he couldn't remember the last time he'd run that fast.

One of the Knights, a Mon Calamari, stepped forward and lifted Kahli into her arms. Looking up, she called sternly, "You two, get down here _now_!" and Anakin heard the frightened scurrying of the other two children as they hastened downstairs. His eyes on the floor, Anakin sensed, rather than saw, Windu come forward.

"Anakin, what's going on?" he asked concernedly. Anakin looked up.

"I found your falling child," he declared.

Windu's eyes flicked from Kahli, crying on his Master's shoulder, to Anakin, who still hadn't quite managed to catch his breath. With a gesture of his hand, Windu motioned for Anakin to stand beside him, and together they left the room, walking side by side. So shocked were the rest of the onlookers that hardly anyone saw them go.

"Then it came true?" Windu queried. Anakin nodded slowly—his mind was working very slowly, still trying to connect everything that had happened.

"What does this mean?" he asked. "In my dream, I—I didn't catch him. How can it be a vision if it didn't come true?"

Windu hesitated. "The only answer I can provide," he said at last, "is that you dreamed what might have been, and changed it to what is."

It took Anakin a second to figure that one out. "You mean that I changed the future?"

The corners of Master Windu's mouth twitched. "Everyone changes the future, Anakin, every instant that they breathe. The difference is that you changed it onto a specific path, one that you were able to control because you saw the alternative." He looked over at his Padawan, who kept his head down. "If that dream had not come, would you have been able to react as quickly as you did?"

Anakin thought back. "No," he realized, almost reluctantly. "There were other Knights—closer than me—but they didn't see him until it was too late." The memory of his vision was mixing bewilderingly with reality; it was difficult to remember which parts he had dreamed and which had actually happened. "And I think…I think I started running even before he fell."

"Because you knew he would."

"I guess so."

_Feel pleased,_ Anakin commanded himself vainly. _You accomplished something Jedi Masters dream of._ But it was no use.

"Excuse me, Master Windu," he murmured, and stepped up his pace. After he had turned the corner of the hallway, he was alone. Exhausted, Anakin sank against the wall. The inevitable question was churning in his brain, making him feel sick.

If it was true, that he was finally becoming the most of what he could be, why had it not happened sooner?

Anakin could think of no enormous change that had taken place, no sudden difference in his connection to the Force. His concentration had been getting better, true, but that could hardly bring on a Force-vision. It seemed to him that the only change of such magnitude that had occurred was…was Obi-Wan.

He tried to pass the thought off as ridiculous, but it wasn't as easy as it should have been. Obi-Wan Kenobi had been the perfect Jedi Knight in every conceivable way; hadn't he adhered perfectly to the Jedi Code, hadn't he fought and lived and died as the Council had told him to, hadn't he been everything a Jedi was supposed to be?

No. If he had, he would not have loved Anakin as he did.

This was a new thought, one that Anakin did not like at all. Oh, he had complained that Obi-Wan was holding him back, but that had been the whining of a child—he had never imagined that it could be _true_. Anakin knew that his Master would never have detained him on purpose, but simply by loving his apprentice, he had caused Anakin to love him back, and love, as every Jedi knew, was a dangerous thing. It seemed to be hundreds, thousands of times that Anakin had thrown Jedi principles to the wind in order to save one man. But if that man were gone…

Anakin pressed his forehead to the cool marble of the wall beside him. In a sense, he supposed, he had been liberated, but it came at a price he would not have been willing to pay. But maybe now—when there was nothing in his way, no distractions or barriers—he could become the Jedi Obi-Wan had always wanted him to be. Yes, that he could do, Anakin decided, touching his fingers to the crystal around his neck. It would be his final gift to his beloved Master.

* * *

Neither Anakin nor Windu told anyone of his vision, nor of the significance of the fact that it had come true, but those who had been there and seen Anakin's mad dash were able to put two and two together, to Anakin's chagrin. Once again, whispers started to follow Anakin in the hallways, and conversations would sometimes stop when he entered a room. But this time, the whispers were of wonderment and awe. Slowly, rumors began to spread through the Temple like smoke of the young Padawan with the crystal around his neck, stricken by devastating tragedy, who never seemed to sleep and could foretell the future. 


	11. Gems of Light

**Author's Note: Triumph! I finally found an official Star Wars calendar on the Internet. This comes in very handy for me, and I'm assuming that it might do as much for the Star Wars fanfiction public in general, so if you want the link to it, email or PM me. I just thought I'd let you all know that.**

* * *

Anakin's training took an immediate and abrupt turn; Force-training and lightsaber practice were divided equally, rather than the heavily tilted balance that he had once favored. Master Windu, sensing this change in his Padawan's attitude, began to give him more difficult challenges, and with every task Anakin was anxious to perform, desperate to excel, and eager for more when it ended. 

His days blurred together, hardly varying as every hour adhered to the schedule of yesterday's predecessor. The only way to keep from becoming bored out of his mind was to throw himself into the process of training harder than he had ever before, and this Anakin did whole-heartedly.

On one such unremarkable day, Anakin could be found in the south-western spire of the Temple, sitting against the wall with his eyes closed. He appeared to be sleeping, but every once in a while his eyes would flicker, his breathing quicken, as he focused all of his will on a paperweight a story below him. Already he had successfully navigated seven stories; the corners of Anakin's mouth turned up as he imagined the looks on people's faces when they saw a small glass rock floating through the halls. His concentration slipped, and the paperweight dropped a foot before he hastened to catch it.

It was one of the most difficult exercises Anakin had attempted yet; to levitate an object that he could not see, while steering it past eight levels of obstacles that were also invisible to him. Nor was this Anakin's first try; shoved haphazardly under his bed downstairs was a cracked droid eye, a datapad that no longer turned on, and a boot of Ferus's that Anakin had "borrowed", among other failed objects.

Gently he nudged the paperweight up the stairs, then hastily turned it to the right before it ran into the wall. A closed door—oh, _great_. Taking care to keep the object of his attention suspended in midair, Anakin sent a thread of the Force to open the door, then scooted the paperweight through before it closed. Now there was nothing but a long, revolving staircase between him and his goal. A few delicate pushes and a couple of minutes were all it took to bring the paperweight to the other side of the door. Opening his eyes, Anakin stood and opened the door.

Hovering before him was the little glass paperweight, and standing behind it was Ferus Olin.

A triumphant grin on his face, Anakin held out a hand and let the glass sphere fall into his hand. "What are you doing here?" he asked. "You keep popping up out of nowhere."

Ferus shrugged. "I was trying to find you, so I followed the floating ball," he replied. "Somehow I knew you were involved."

"Ha, ha," Anakin remarked humorlessly. He set off down the stairs, and Ferus followed behind him.

"Hey, do you know what day it is?" Ferus asked out of nowhere.

"Um…" Anakin thought for a moment. "It's Datunda."

"I knew it," said Ferus. Anakin couldn't see his face, but he could hear the satisfied tone. "You forgot, didn't you?"

"Forgot _what_?" Anakin asked, turning around on the stairs. "I didn't forget anything." His mind was running over possibilities; he was certain Master Windu hadn't mentioned anything special about today. Perhaps there was a group exercise he was supposed to attend, but he was almost _sure_ that there was nothing…

Ferus was watching him with a mirthful, all-knowing smile on his face. He looked as though he was really enjoying this. "Anakin, it's your birthday."

Anakin snorted derisively, probably not the reaction his friend had been expecting. "No, it's not," he said dismissively.

"I'm pretty sure it is."

"Oh, come on," Anakin said, beginning to walk again. "Don't you think I would know if it was my birthday?"

"Yes, I would," Ferus agreed, "and yet somehow you've completely missed it."

"I did not!"

"Yelona twenty-third, right?"

His pace slowed. "Yes…"

"When was the last time you looked at a calendar?" Ferus asked, pressing his advantage.

"I don't know," Anakin answered irritably, his face growing hot. He was feeling very stupid; how many people forgot their own birthdays? He walked quickly until they reached his room, at which point he dug around for a while on the messy pile of random papers on his desk, until he found a calendar. He blinked owlishly at it. "Oh," was his witty riposte.

Ferus, who was on the other side of the room, reached under Anakin's bed and fished his boot out from under it. He walked to Anakin's side. "Happy twentieth birthday," he wished his friend. "Why couldn't you use one of your own shoes?"

Still staring at the calendar, Anakin shook his head, as though to toss off some lingering unwelcome thought, and turned to face Ferus. "Because I thought I might lose it," he answered. His tone was lighthearted, but his eyes were subdued as something unnamable flickered behind them. Fortunately, just then Master Windu poked his head through the door.

"Anakin, I need your help with something," he said urgently. "Are you busy?"

"Um—" Anakin looked at Ferus, who shrugged. "No, not really. What is it?"

"Come with me," Windu said. Anakin obeyed, and they began walking side by side down the hall in the direction of the classrooms.

"As the War does not seem to be ending anytime soon," Windu said, "Chancellor Palpatine has requested more powers from the Senate, with the excuse that he will be able to finish this business once and for all if he has ultimate control over the army."

Anakin looked at his Master. "You sound skeptical," he noted. Windu made a disapproving noise.

"One man should never have too much power," he said. "That's why the Senate was created in the first place. It's what I believe, and the Council agrees with me. I've been appointed the representative of the Jedi in the Senate meeting today, to express our opinions on this matter." He stopped and turned to face Anakin. "The bottom line, Anakin, is that I have a class scheduled for today that I'm going to have to miss because of this. I want you to teach it."

Anakin's eyebrows shot up. "Teach?" he repeated. "_Me?_" The obvious incredulousness in his voice made Windu smile broadly. "Master, I'm not even a Knight yet!"

"It's not that difficult," Windu said, shrugging a shoulder. "And you would be teaching children—certainly not Padawans your own age. It's just standard class material you learned years ago."

Grimacing, Anakin shifted his weight. "Couldn't you get someone else?" he asked uncomfortably.

"Of course I could," replied Windu complacently. "But I think this will be good practice for you. I left some notes on the desk, room 214. Have fun; I've got to go."

And then he was gone, leaving Anakin standing in the middle of the hall with his mouth open. After blinking several times and wondering whether he had heard correctly, Anakin decided not to fight fate and headed for classroom 214.

No sooner had he opened the door than fourteen pairs of eyes turned to him as one. Sitting randomly on the floor, the children looked him expectantly, waiting for him to move. Anakin gulped and walked toward the front of the plainly decorated room, where sat the aforementioned desk with a chair behind it and a datapad on it. The children watched him, eerily silent. Giving a little awkward cough, Anakin picked up the datapad. He groaned to himself as he saw the notes Windu had left; they had obviously been meant as a reminder, not a syllabus.

_Demonstrate physical usage, use training remotes & lightsabers, let practice, then blindfold and repeat until end._

And that was all there was.

_Right, thanks for being so specific,_ Anakin thought to Windu, irritated. Well, there was no help for it, he supposed. Straightening, Anakin took a deep breath.

"Hi," he began lamely. No one moved. "So, do you guys know what you're supposed to be learning about today?"

Silence. Then, after thirty seconds or so, a girl in the front with blond hair and several freckles tentatively raised her hand. "Master Windu said that we would be learning about the—" She hesitated for a moment, trying to remember, then spoke slowly. "The basic…uses of the Force."

Three or four children around her murmured in agreement. Anakin's spirits lifted slightly; that, at least, was something he knew all about. He sat down in the chair, then discovered that he couldn't see the kids in the front and opted to stand in front of the desk.

"The Force," Anakin began, "is a very difficult thing to understand—but bear with me here. You guys haven't had much opportunity to use it yet, have you?" They shook their heads.

"Well, today Master Windu wants you to learn how to use the Force," said Anakin. "One of the most important things you can learn is to see without your eyes."

This statement earned a lot of blank, confused stares from his audience. Resisting the urge to roll his eyes, Anakin turned around and dug through the desk drawers until he found a box full of small, cheap crystal balls, presumably to be used for training. He placed them on the floor in front of the children.

"Here," Anakin ordered. "Try and hit me with these." With that, he turned around and waited, his eyes closed. After a few seconds, one of the kids worked up the nerve to throw one of the balls at his teacher. Without opening his eyes, Anakin twitched a finger; the sphere stopped in midair, then gently floated to the ground.

From behind him, Anakin heard a chorus of awed gasps. He grinned to himself. "Come on, you guys can do better than that," he challenged. A second later, he almost regretted those words, as suddenly the air was filled with the sound of fourteen missiles hurtling toward him. It took only a bit more concentration than before to catch each one in flight, then they sank to the floor one by one and collected themselves into the box as though they had never been touched. Only then did Anakin turned around.

"That's what we're going to be working on today," he told them, "or something like it, anyway."

It wasn't difficult to tell that he had their undivided attention.

* * *

Once Anakin had equipped the children with training helmets and lightsabers, there wasn't much to do but watch, and occasionally prevent a fight when a youngster would swing his lightsaber too liberally and smack someone in the back of the head with it. He leaned, standing, against the desk, idly tapping the fingers of his right hand against the wood. The prosthetic needed recalibration, Anakin had noticed a few days ago. He had been meaning to get that fixed, but never really gotten around to it. 

Busy taking a closer look at his mechanical hand, Anakin didn't notice that one of the kids had left the group until he was standing right beside the desk. The boy pulled the helmet off, revealing dark, tousled hair. It was Kahli.

"Anakin?" he said hesitantly. Anakin turned to face him. "I just wanted to say thank you for catching me. I was going to thank you sooner, but I never saw you around the Temple, and my Master always kept me busy—so, um, thank you."

He looked anxiously up into Anakin's eyes, and the older boy smiled. "You really should be more careful," Anakin reprimanded him gently. Kahli only looked cross.

"_Everybody's_ telling me that now," he complained. "It was only once!"

This reminded Anakin so much of himself when he was seven that he had to bite down on his tongue to keep from laughing out loud. There was silence for a moment; for some reason, Kahli seemed reluctant to leave. Then suddenly, as though he had been gathering his courage for this, he blurted out, "Why do you wear that crystal around your neck?"

Anakin considered the question in silence for a moment, running his thumb against the facets of the crystal. At last he spoke. "Do you remember Master Kenobi?"

Kahli nodded. "He died on a mission a while ago, didn't he?" the boy asked gravely.

"Yes. He was my Master, and this—" Anakin unfastened the chain from around his neck and let the crystal lay in his flat palm "—this was a crystal from his lightsaber. See, if I always have this with me, then no one can ever forget him."

Another might have been confused by this, but to Kahli it seemed to make perfect sense. He scrambled up onto the desk alongside Anakin. "Do you miss him?" he asked. Anakin shrugged.

"Of course," he replied, with perfect conviction. "He was the greatest Knight that ever lived." Anakin looked down at Kahli amusedly. "But I'll bet you think that about your Master, too, huh?"

Kahli squirmed on the desk. "Yeah, I guess so," he decided finally. Across the room, the door opened suddenly, and Master Windu stepped in.

"It seems you've got everything under control here," he said. "Maybe you've got a knack for teaching."

Anakin grinned. "I doubt it," he answered. Looking at the chronometer on the wall, his eyes widened. Two hours had passed since he had walked through that door. "Oh, hey, time's up." He waved a hand, and the training lightsabers lifted from the children's hands. They took their helmets off bewilderedly, to see what was going on, and Anakin waved them out. "Class is over, guys, see you later."

One by one the children left, to go to their next class or wherever it was seven-year-old Jedi went—Anakin certainly couldn't remember—and Windu turned to his Padawan.

"I've been meaning to speak to you about something," said Windu, taking the chair that Anakin had vacated. "You've progressed very well in your training—much faster than I would have expected."

Anakin ducked his head, embarrassed. "Not as well as I'd hoped," he murmured.

"You expect too much of yourself," Windu chided him. "I've warned you about that before."

"I know, Master."

"Anyway," Windu continued, "As I'm sure you know, the Trials are coming up in two months. Anakin, I think you should take them this year."

Anakin didn't speak for a long time, trying to digest this. "Master," he managed finally, "I'm glad that you think I'm ready to become a Knight—but honestly, I don't."

Windu looked at him askance. "Really?" he asked. "Why not?"

Anakin struggled for a moment to voice what he was thinking. "Well, Obi-Wan became a Knight when he was twenty-five," he said. "And then only because Master Jinn died. And I really haven't progressed as far as you think, Master—I know I still have a lot to learn."

He could have been mistaken, but Anakin could have sworn he saw Windu bite back a smile. "Anakin, do you know what they're saying about you?" Windu asked. Anakin shook his head no, but that wasn't entirely true. He had heard rumors—everyone had—but nothing very clear-cut. "After ten years, people began to take the fact that you are the Chosen One for granted, but now, when they find out you can predict the future—"

"Once!" Anakin broke in hotly.

"Nevertheless, it is an interesting development," Windu said calmly. "Anakin, think about it: how many Padawans do you know who can save someone from death under such circumstances as you did? You may not have lived up to your own expectations, but you have lived up to everyone else's—and, I would add most confidently, Obi-Wan's."

There was silence for a minute, then Windu spoke again. "You know that if I had told you the same thing a little over two months ago, you would have jumped at the chance. That, I believe, is another example of why you are prepared to take this step."

Silence again. Anakin's eyes were on his hands, watching them twist the material of his cloak anxiously. At last, he raised his head.

"If you think I'm ready," he murmured, "then I'll take the Trials this year."

Windu smiled. "I have faith in you," he told his apprentice, standing. "There is no doubt in my mind that you will pass. You have accomplished much, Anakin, and you will accomplish more."

He left then, and Anakin was alone in the room. When the door had shut, Anakin opened his fist and held up the pendant, watching the blue-green crystal swing gently back and forth. Light bounced off its facets and danced on the walls in indefinable patterns, illuminating the dull, grayish room in a way that the glo-lamp could not have possibly done, and a few of those gems of light flickered on Anakin's solemn face as he sat and thought of Windu's parting words—hoping, for everyone's sake, that his Master was right.


	12. Darkness and Doubt

Despite Windu's fervent beliefs, Anakin found out days later, his Master's representation had been in vain. The Supreme Chancellor now controlled every single clone of the millions which protected the Republic, and almost immediately he ordered them to abandon their search of Utapau, concentrating the majority of the troops on Muunilist.

This abrupt and shocking move immediately split the Senate down the middle, as half the senators defended Palpatine's actions and the other half attacked them. Utapau had been largely considered to be a prime candidate for the Separatist leaders' hiding place, and to desert it so suddenly was seen as suspicious among those who had opposed Palpatine from the beginning. All this, however, had very little to do with Anakin—he tried to make sure that politics never did—and so he remained very indifferent to the doings of the senators. Palpatine was the one politician whom he considered trustworthy, and surely the Chancellor must know what he was doing. Otherwise, Anakin's pragmatic mind reasoned, he would hardly have been elected Supreme Chancellor in the first place.

Anakin was forced to get much closer to the sordid world of politics, however, hardly a month after he agreed to take the Trials. Since that day, the Order had grown very busy indeed; at any given time, the Temple would only house half of its full capacity, so many Jedi were away on missions. Windu and Anakin were busy as well, sent on so many missions that, in that month, Anakin spent less than a week at the Temple. Their last mission had been to Byss, ending with the forceful arrest of several powerful Separatist sympathizers—Anakin expected something equally exciting when he was summoned to the Council Chamber at the end of the month.

He was, however, gravely mistaken.

As soon as he stepped into the room and bowed, Master Yoda began to speak, wasting no time at all. "An attack, there has been, on Chancellor Palpatine's life," he announced to the room at large. Anakin's heartbeat quickened for a moment before Yoda continued. "Survived, he has, but killed, several of his aides were."

Ki-Adi-Mundi broke in, speaking directly to Anakin. "The Chancellor is far too important to be lost so easily. He has requested a Jedi bodyguard, and the Council feels that this is a more than reasonable request."

With a sinking feeling in his stomach, Anakin thought he understood.

"You want me to guard the Chancellor?" he asked. Yoda nodded, and Windu spoke.

"I'll be away for a month on Bespin, leaving tomorrow," he said. "It would be best if you had something to do between now and when the Trials begin."

"Difficult, it is not," Yoda assured Anakin. "Simply protect him wherever he goes, you must."

"Including Senate meetings?" Anakin asked before he could stop himself. Yoda nodded, and Anakin shot his Master a pleading look that said, quite plainly, _Couldn't I stick needles under my fingernails instead?_ Windu responded by merely raising a very stern eyebrow, and Anakin, knowing he had lost, turned back to Master Yoda.

"I accept," he murmured, quite unwillingly. "When would you like me to start?"

"Expecting you as soon as possible, the Chancellor is," replied the Jedi Master, "at his apartments."

Had anyone been standing right beside Anakin, they might have heard him mutter, very quietly, a word for which Obi-Wan had chastised him several times in the past. All that the Council saw, however, was the obedient bow and the quick exit.

There wasn't much for him to pack, only a few extra robes, which Anakin threw without ceremony into a small bag. Dear Force, an entire month of diplomacy, of standing behind the Chancellor for hours, of waiting and waiting and _waiting_ for the Senate to adjourn. With an exasperated gesture, Anakin threw a datapad violently in the direction of the bed, missed, and sent it smashing into the wall. Wincing, he hastily picked it up—thankfully it wasn't broken—and tucked it into a side pocket of his bag.

It was less than twenty kilometers to Palpatine's apartments, a journey which was made in a very short amount of time. Anakin took a taxi, so as not to render a Temple ship useless for thirty-five days. After shoving a few credits into the taxi driver's grimy hand, he started up the steps from the Chancellor's landing bay, a growing feeling of dread in his stomach. There was a door at the top of the stairs, but before Anakin reached this, it opened from the inside and a female Bothan, covered in dark fur, stepped out.

"Master Jedi," she greeted him. "The Chancellor has asked me to show you to your rooms. If you'll follow me…"

Immediately she turned around and went right back through the door. Anakin, not wanting to be left behind, sped up his pace. For the most part, there was only silence as she led him through the sumptuous halls, but they passed a great many doors, and every once in a while the Bothan would say something like, "This is the Chancellor's bedroom" or "Through there, and the kitchen's just on your left". Anakin did his best to remember all this, and by the time they had reached his rooms, he had a vague mental map in his head of the floor.

Opposite Anakin's door were two large double doors, the sort that swung back and forth on hinges. The Bothan raised a hand in the direction of these.

"That," she said, "is the Chancellor's private study. He's in there now, but I'm sure he'll see you presently."

Without another word, she left, walking briskly down the hallway. A bit bewildered, Anakin entered his own chambers, to find a sitting room, small but comfortable. Off this were two doors, presumably the bedroom and the refresher, but these Anakin did not explore. Throwing his pack carelessly onto the sofa, he sat down beside it and leaned his head back against the cushions. No sooner had he stopped moving than it hit him how tired he was. Mission after mission, without a moment's respite—maybe a little peace and quiet wouldn't be so bad, at least at first.

The healing side of the Force beckoned; Anakin's eyes closed almost of their own volition, and he gave in to it.

* * *

_Thud—thud—thud—thud—_

_The sound of quick, precise footsteps on a hard floor._

"_Your Excellency, this is the Jedi."_

The noises were perfectly clear, so much that they were almost painful. But Anakin could see nothing, for all was lost in a confusing mix of harsh, false red light. Dark shapes swirled before his burning eyes.

_The voice that spoke then was more croak than tone, the voice one expected to hear coming from the throat of a toad. It skittered sharply over the syllables, rattling against the words. It came from right beside him, and was not altogether unfamiliar. "Leave us." And a pause. "What have you to say for yourself, Jedi?"_

Anakin tried to open his mouth to speak, but stopped suddenly. The redness was clearing—his eyes fluttered as he fought to see, but it was like trying to gaze into the sun.

"_I am not alone in my cause." This voice was strong and proud, but the shape that it came from was so small, crouching on the ground like an animal in front of him. It too was not unfamiliar—desperately he tried to think whose voice it must have been. "Nor will my death do anything to save your reign from destruction."_

_The toad voice spoke again, spitting out words like blaster bolts. "Yours is a dying breed, Jedi. Your death may do nothing, but my reign is quite safe."_

"_You are wrong!" cried the shape on the floor exultantly. "There are others like myself, thousands more—"_

The shape was human, Anakin saw now, kneeling awkwardly on the ground—but its face was raised.

"_Other Jedi?" asked the toad voice; it came from something short, something small, but latent power creaked through its every movement as it stood. His vision was clearing, but he could still not see this one any more plainly. But on the floor, the human was growing more detailed by the second—if only this unnatural redness would fade…_

"_Others," the human repeated, his face glowing. "Others who despise you and would see your Sith empire die, others who would gladly sacrifice their own lives if it would mean the end of your own, others who number in the millions! Your throne is far from stable, Your Excellency!"_

_The crack of lightning snapped unexpectedly through the air—he jerked backwards as a sharp blueness cut across his red vision, and a horrible burnt smell filled the air. The human collapsed, and as he fell, his face came into perfect focus._

Ferus?

_Ferus Olin—but older. He looked thirty, perhaps even older than that, but there was that same tell-tale streak of brightness in his hair, and though his face had lost its youth it remained the same._

_Before he realized that his best friend was lying on the ground, _dead_, the other being turned toward him. He saw the shape of a hood, and the outline of a face underneath, so hard that it looked as though it had been cut out of stone._

"_Find these 'others' of which he speaks," ordered the voice from under the hood, that awful toad's voice that grated against his ears. "Destroy them. That is your task."_

_And he bowed.

* * *

_

Anakin burst out of the dream with a long, gasping breath—he felt as though steel bands around his chest had just been loosed, and he gulped in air like he was drowning. His hands were trembling; Anakin passed a hand over his face, a habit he had picked up from Obi-Wan, and found that his forehead was covered in sweat.

He knew, just as he had known before, that what he had just seen—or rather, heard, for the most part—was no ordinary dream. But this time, he knew what it was. There was a holo-projector embedded in the low glass table in front of him. Anakin pounced on it and fumbled with the buttons until it turned on.

"Contact the Jedi Council," he said, and within seconds, the voice-activated system had connected him with a beep to the projector in the middle of the Council Chamber. Anakin could see Windu sitting between Yoda and Plo Koon.

"Master, I—" he blurted out, before he remembered that others could hear him as well. He hesitated, looking at the other Jedi Masters. Windu understood.

"Whatever you have to say can be said here," he told his apprentice. Anakin grimaced, but continued. "It happened again," he said.

Windu leaned forward. "Another vision, you mean?"

"Yes, and it was worse."

A frown crossed Windu's face. "What do you mean, worse?"

Anakin took another deep breath—even the memory was enough to cause his chest to tighten painfully again. "The other one was just sad, but this was—I sensed the Dark Side in it."

He could hear the concerned murmurs coming from the other end. Windu looked solemn.

"What was it?" he asked. Anakin bit his lip until he tasted blood.

"There was red light, everywhere, it made everything very hard to see. But—but I could hear, and I heard someone speaking to a Jedi. He asked if the Jedi had anything to say for himself—it sounded as though he were being punished for _being_ a Jedi. And the Jedi said something about—something about a cause, and that even if the other person killed him, his reign would still end."

"An Outer Rim leader?" suggested Windu, although his voice betrayed the fact that he did not truly believe that. Anakin shrugged uncomfortably.

"Maybe," he conceded, "but I don't think so." In as few words as possible, Anakin related to the entire Jedi Council everything that he remembered about the nightmare. He described the voice he had heard in great detail especially, hoping they would be able to provide him with a name or face, but the Council was as lost for answers as he.

"Please don't tell Ferus what I saw," Anakin begged finally. "It would only worry him, and I—" He stopped, but he did not have to explain to the assembled Jedi Masters the guilt that he felt at seeing his friend's death in such a way.

"Don't worry, Anakin," Windu assured him. "Padawan Olin will never hear of this—nor, I think, will anyone else."

It didn't entirely alleviate the burden Anakin felt, but it did help.

"A Sith empire, he said?" Master Yoda questioned. Anakin nodded. "A dark future indeed, this predicts, and a near one as well."

Seeing Anakin's face, which was very pale, Windu hastened to add, "But the future was changed through his vision last time. Perhaps that will happen again."

Anakin stopped listening for a moment. He could have sworn he heard something moving outside his door.

"I think the Chancellor is coming," he said, his voice lower. "I should go."

"Remember, Anakin, this is only what may be," Windu reminded his Padawan. "Not necessarily what _will_ be."

Anakin gave a half-bow, ending the conversation, and the hologram flickered and died. It was a good thing, too, for just then the door opened, and Palpatine strode in.

"Anakin," he said warmly, reaching out a hand to clasp the Jedi's. "It's been a long time since we last saw each other."

Anakin's spirits lifted slightly. Chancellor Palpatine had always been kind to him, and just the sight of someone so stable and strong made him feel better. Surely no Sith empire could exist while this man headed the Senate.

"I'm glad to see you again, Chancellor," Anakin said, making a slight bow, but Palpatine dismissed this gesture with a wave of his hand.

"Oh, come, Anakin, we are old friends," he said with a smile. "Surely there is no need to stand on formality."

Anakin smiled as well at this, and Palpatine took his arm in a strong grasp, leading him across the hall into his study. "You and I must talk," he said, by way of explanation.

Only once before had Anakin been in this room, and then, as now, he thought it perfect. A few tall, graceful sculptures, done by some of the most talented artists in the galaxy, stood against the richly colored walls. Its wide windows opened out onto the world of Coruscant—one felt as though all of the planet could be seen through that plasti-glass—which eliminated the feeling Anakin got sometimes when in a room where there was no window, as though he was in a cage. Here there was no chance of that. It was, Anakin thought, a room where one could be very comfortable.

Palpatine did not sit down, but instead began a slow walk around the perimeter of the room, and Anakin walked with him. "I was very glad to hear the news," he said. "So you're to take the Trials this year?"

Anakin nodded. "Master Windu feels that I'm ready for it," he replied. It was a sign of Palpatine's intuitiveness that he looked at Anakin askance.

"And do _you _feel that you are ready?" he asked. Anakin bit down on his lip uncomfortably, looking down at the soft carpet as they walked. His boots looked thick and clumsy on it.

"I—I don't know," Anakin admitted. The unsurety he felt came across clearly in his voice, more so than he would have liked. "There were times that I was certain, but the more I learn the more I think that I still have so much to accomplish before I'm worthy. And there are other times—" He bowed his head, guilt washing over him again. "There are times when I know, deep down, that I am infinitely far from such an honor."

There was no noise in the room, but for the soft whispering of Palpatine's long, elegant robes against the floor. The Chancellor gave him a knowing look, and after a moment, spoke.

"You mean the Sand People?"

Anakin nodded again, too ashamed to speak.

"And the Tatooine prisoners as well, I assume."

His head shot up. "How do you—?"

Palpatine raised his eyebrows. "Rest assured, Anakin, I have not been spying on you. Your friends have not betrayed their confidences either." He sighed. "To be honest, Anakin, you have fascinated me for many years. I see a powerful future for you, and I made a point, a long time ago, of knowing as much about you as I could."

Anakin didn't know whether to feel flattered or scared; he settled on a little bit of both.

"You're right," he said finally, the despair he felt coming out at last. "Chancellor, I can't tell you how much I regret my actions on those occasions. How could someone like me ever become a true Knight?"

"Why, whatever do you mean?" Palpatine asked, surprise in his voice as he stopped and turned to Anakin.

"I give in to my anger far too easily," Anakin said, frustrated at his own faults. "I let it take me where I should not go—where a Jedi _cannot_ go!"

Palpatine looked grave. "Anakin, I have no wish to make you distrust the Jedi Order, but I have long felt that no good can come of their denying of the human emotions."

"What do you mean?" asked Anakin, confused. Palpatine began walking, and Anakin followed him automatically. The Chancellor appeared almost regretful as he spoke. It was clear that whatever he was about to say, he said with great reluctance.

"The Jedi…forbid any strong emotions, such as anger or extreme want, selfishness, or even love." He looked at Anakin sorrowfully. "But human beings were not made to live in such a way. Whatever being created mankind created them to _feel_. It was not your fault that you attacked those people. You see, Anakin, if emotion is bottled up for too long, it will inevitably explode. You have experienced this."

It was a moment before Anakin found his voice. "But—what about those Jedi who never get angry, who never feel anything strongly at all? What about the Masters, on the Council?"

Palpatine appeared very serious indeed. "It would be my own personal opinion—not necessarily to be taken as truth, you understand—that they have ceased to be entirely human. They are…something less." Looking into the Jedi's troubled eyes, he said softly, "You may not qualify, in their minds, to be the perfect Knight—but if you did, Anakin, can you imagine the price you would have paid?"

Anakin stepped back a pace, overwhelmed. It seemed suddenly to be a tremendous struggle to speak—it was as though a weight lay on his mouth, holding his lips shut. At last, he managed, "The Jedi are set apart from the rest of the galaxy. It is the only way we can truly protect it and fight for it."

Palpatine inclined his head. "Forgive me," he said, "if I caused you to doubt. If that is your belief, Anakin, then surely you would know better than I."

A few more words were exchanged, but they were no more than empty pleasantries. Anakin was miserably distracted, and excused himself to his rooms as soon as possible.

Twilight was already falling over Coruscant. Anakin watched the giant sun set from his window; his thoughts were in turmoil.

He did not sleep until very late that night.


	13. You Know, Don't You?

Just as the sun broke over the horizon the next morning, Anakin awoke, but for several minutes he did not move. He lay instead on the sleep couch, one arm tucked under his head, resting his weary muscles. After a time, though, he forced himself to throw off the thick, warm blankets and stand. No sooner had he done so than there was a knock at his door. Anakin opened it, to see Palpatine standing there. 

"Anakin, I'm so sorry to bother you," the Chancellor apologized. "I hope I didn't wake you—"

"Oh, no, of course not," Anakin assured him hastily. "I just got up. Come in, please."

Feeling not a little awkward, mostly due to the fact that he didn't have a shirt on, Anakin stepped back and allowed Palpatine to enter. The latter did so gracefully, looking as though he had been awake for hours.

"As I say, Anakin, I'm sorry to bother you," he repeated, "but I have tremendous news about the War."

"What is it?" Anakin asked. His heart seemed to have stopped beating.

Smiling a little, Palpatine replied, "Our clone intelligence units have discovered the location of General Grievous. He has been hiding in the Utapau system."

Confused, Anakin's forehead creased. "Utapau? But I thought that had been ruled that out as a possibility."

Palpatine sighed sadly. "Apparently, he was too clever for us. He purposely gave the Senate reasons to believe that he had left there a long time ago. Fortunately, our ever-vigilant clones found him, regardless."

Anakin's eyes had taken on a fervent glow. "At last," he breathed. "We'll be able to capture that monster, and end this war." How many nights he had lain awake and hoped for this day, when finally there would be peace in the galaxy once more.

"It would be best," Palpatine continued, "if you contacted the Council immediately and told them of this. Clones alone will do nothing against the General—he's very powerful, you know, and he's not the only one with an army. I would suggest to the Council that they send one of their best Knights as well." His eyes rested on Anakin's face. "They would not be amiss, I think, in sending you."

Anakin ducked his head. "Chancellor, I have yet to even become a Knight," he murmured. "They would have no reason to send a mere Padawan."

"But in a month's time, you will become a Knight," Palpatine reminded him. "One of the greatest the Jedi Order has ever seen, if I am not terribly mistaken. It would be best to wait until then in any case—General Grievous remains entirely unaware of his impending doom, and if we watch him closely, no doubt we could learn a great deal more of what his allies are planning. I would worry about the collective wisdom of the Senate if they overlook you for this assignment."

Anakin nodded, inwardly pleased. "I'll certainly tell them," he said. "And I thank you for your trust in me." He turned to activate the holo-projector again.

"I don't suppose the Jedi Council would appreciate my listening in on your conversation," Palpatine remarked. "I will wait in my study for their reply."

"Chancellor, I'm sure they wouldn't—" Anakin protested, but Palpatine interrupted this argument with an airy gesture and an indulgent smile.

"I will wait," he repeated, and left.

Shaking his head, Anakin pressed the button again, and repeated his instructions of last night. This time, the Council chamber was empty. "Krif," Anakin muttered under his breath. Next he tried Windu's private quarters. His Master answered almost immediately.

"Yes, Anakin?" he asked.

"General Grievous has been found," Anakin said quickly, wanting to get that out as soon as possible. Windu stood abruptly.

"Transfer your signal to the Council chamber," he said. "I'll call a meeting immediately."

"Yes, Master," Anakin said obediently. Rolling his eyes, he went right back to the Council room, where three Masters besides Windu were already convened: Master Yoda (of course), Adi Gallia, and Ki-Adi-Mundi.

Windu got straight to business. "You say that Grievous has been found?" he said.

"He's somewhere in the Utapau system," Anakin confirmed. "The Chancellor's intelligence units found him."

Slowly, Windu leaned against the back of his chair, tapping the ends of his fingers together thoughtfully. "This is very interesting," he murmured. No one else spoke, but from their expressions, Anakin could tell that the other Masters agreed with him. Before he could say another word, however, Anakin heard the sound of a door opening on the other end—Kit Fisto walked into the picture—and he was forced to repeat his statement.

"Chancellor Palpatine was confident that there were no Separatists on Utapau," Windu continued, once Master Fisto had been seated and filled in. "How could he overlook such a thing?"

"Even great men make mistakes," Anakin countered, a bit more hotly than he had intended. "The Chancellor was as surprised as we are to find that he had been wrong."

"We don't know what made him send the army to Muunilist," commented Master Gallia, almost as though she had not heard Anakin's voice. "If he had some inside information, why didn't he share it with the Senate?"

"Fit together, these pieces do not," Yoda mused concernedly. "A good sign, this cannot be."

Anakin looked from one Council member to another, his mouth open in disbelief. "You can't possibly suspect the Chancellor of—that's insane!"

"Anakin," said Windu sternly. "You trust the Chancellor, and for that reason alone I would trust him as well, but remember, he is a politician. There are very few of them who do not have some sort of hidden agenda.

"Palpatine is not like that!" Anakin argued. "He has the Republic's best interests in mind, I know for a fact. And anyway, what reason could he possibly have for—"

"Was there anything else the Chancellor had to say to us?" Windu asked, pointedly ending the conversation. Fuming, Anakin had to think for a moment.

"He has asked the Order to send a Knight to Utapau, to capture Grievous. Whomever you choose to send will be backed up by clone soldiers."

"What about Siri Tachi?" suggested Adi Gallia, her voice soft as always. "She's a bit impetuous, but very capable."

"Perhaps," Windu conceded. "What is it, Anakin?" He could tell from his Padawan's anxious expression that he had something else to say.

"Um—the Chancellor has requested—that I lead the campaign to Utapau." No sooner had the words left his mouth than Anakin realized how insolent they sounded. He shifted his weight, uncomfortably aware of every Master's gaze being on him.

"The Council will make up its own mind as to that," Windu said finally. "The Chancellor has no place here."

Anakin bowed his head in deference, feeling very embarrassed.

"General Grievous is a seasoned warrior," Windu continued. "A Master is required. Master Mundi should go."

"I agree," said Yoda.

"Aye," chorused the rest of the Council.

"Very well, it's settled then," concluded Windu. "Council adjourned."

As quickly as they had come, the little blue seats atop the table vanished in an instant. Anakin straightened, then moved quickly across the hall to Palpatine's study. Even before he knocked, the doors swung open, and Anakin stepped down the short flight of stairs to stand before Palpatine's desk. The Chancellor sat in the chair, his back turned to the rest of the room as he gazed out the window.

"So, what did the Council have to say?" he asked.

"They decided that a Master would be necessary to deal with the General," Anakin answered. "Ki-Adi-Mundi is going."

Palpatine emitted a deep sigh as he turned in his chair to face Anakin. "It's upsetting to me to see that the Council doesn't seem to fully appreciate your talents," he murmured regretfully.

"I'm sure they know better than I," Anakin said, but doubt hovered obviously at the edges of his voice. He still smarted over being dismissed so easily. Didn't they think he could do it?

Palpatine stood. "Well, one can only hope so," he mused, almost to himself. Before Anakin could fully take in the meaning of these words, the Chancellor continued, out loud this time, "There's to be an assembly of the Senate in ten minutes time." He gave Anakin a wry smile. "For reasons I can't fathom, some of the more troublesome senators have set their minds on the fact that I committed my admittedly grave error on purpose. I have to explain the entire situation to them again, and the Force knows it won't be easy pounding it into their thick heads. I hope," he finished, "you don't mind accompanying me there for a few hours?"

"Of course not," Anakin said, with a little laugh. "That's what I'm here for." As they walked up the stairs, however, the Padawan couldn't help wondering half-heartedly if he had a suicide pill tucked away in one of the pouches of his belt.

* * *

As it turned out, a mere few hours would have been a blessing. Palpatine was called back to the Senate four days that week, and each time they seemed to repeat exactly what had been said the last time, and the time before that, until Anakin—sitting, outwardly patient, beside the Chancellor—wanted to stand up and scream at the top of his lungs, "HE DIDN'T DO ANYTHING, NOW LET ME GO!"

He never did it, of course, but it made for a enjoyable fantasy, especially on occasions like today when the temperature in the Senate Chamber seemed to be over a hundred degrees. His cloak was much itchier than he remembered it being in the past, and he could hear a zipha's noisy, irritating buzz coming from somewhere near his ear, silent to all but him. Anakin himself could hardly breathe in the stifling heat, but somehow the portly, blue-faced senator from across the room never seemed to run out of air. He droned on and on, ranting passionlessly on the "suspicious nature of certain actions" and "skeptical usage of intelligence units", as not even the senators could pretend any longer that they had any enthusiasm for this. It never ceased to amaze Anakin how politicians could speak for hours and never really dare to say anything at all.

"Anakin?"

He looked up distractedly, snapping out of an extremely pleasant daydream in which he had jumped from this dais to that of the blue senator's, put his hands around the his fat neck, and squeezed as hard as he could. Probably not entirely appropriate for a Jedi Padawan who was soon to be Knighted, but quite understandable, Anakin thought, considering the circumstances.

"It's time to leave," said Palpatine, smiling slightly. Resisting the urge to breathe a heart-felt, "Oh, thank the Force," Anakin stood, waiting impatiently for the dais to lower itself to the ground.

When he arrived back at his rooms, the holo-projector on the table was beeping. Anakin switched it on, to find Windu waiting for him.

"Yes, Master?" he asked. His Master's face was stern.

"Anakin, is the Chancellor anywhere near you?"

Immediately confused, Anakin replied, "No, he's in his study. Why?"

"He couldn't possibly hear you?"

"No, he couldn't. What's this all about?"

Windu sighed. "You know what the Senate has been talking about." He looked at his Padawan expectantly, waiting for some kind of confirmation. When there was none, he looked heavenward, as though asking for patience. "Anakin, you have been sitting in on Senate meetings for four days straight. Please, _please_ tell me that at least a tiny bit of what you heard soaked into your brain."

Anakin winced, because of course none of it had. However, he had no intention of telling his Master how he spent the hours in the Senate Chamber, so he had to content himself with the explanation of, "Well…it's really not very interesting…"

Windu looked to the skies once more, then continued. "The Senate, Anakin, has been deliberating whether to give over authority of the Jedi Order itself to the Chancellor."

Anakin gaped. "No, they haven't!" he managed, shocked. "They were talking about—about Grievous being on Utapau and not Muunilist."

"Partly, yes, that is true," Windu conceded. "However, Palpatine insists that it was because he did not have control of the Jedi's actions in this matter that he was mistaken about Grievous's whereabouts."

Anakin was silent. Could that possibly be true? Politicians were rarely grounded in truth when attempting to achieve their own ends, but surely Palpatine was above such petty lies.

"I don't understand why you're telling me this," he said finally. "You want me to talk to the Chancellor?"

"No, Anakin," Windu said. "In order to stay ahead of this new development, and to combat it, the Council needs to know what Palpatine is planning." He looked down, as though reluctant to speak. "We need you to report back to us on all his dealings."

It was a moment before Anakin could take this. "You—you want me to spy on the Chancellor?" he repeated, stunned. "That's treason!"

"We are at war, Anakin," Windu reminded him solemnly

"Yes, but not with him!" Anakin's voice was louder than he had meant. He looked up quickly, but thankfully sensed no one nearby. He turned back to the holo-projector. "The Chancellor is not a bad man, Master," he said, his voice lowered but no less aggravated. "He befriended me, he's watched over me ever since I arrived here."

"That is why _you_ must help us in this matter," said Windu. "Anakin, our allegiance is to the Senate, and not to its leader, who has managed to stay in office long after his term has expired."

"The Senate demanded that he stay longer," Anakin said stiffly.

"Yes, but use your feelings," Windu pressed. "Something is out of place!"

Anakin shook his head, feeling lost and bewildered. In an instant, it was as though his world had been turned upside-down. "You are asking me to do something against the Jedi Code," he said sharply, "against the Republic, against a friend and a mentor—that's what out of place here. I won't—I can't do it."

"You must," Windu said sternly. "This information is invaluable to us." Anakin said nothing. "Do I have your word that you will do as you are told?"

There was a long, sullen silence. "Yes," Anakin said finally, obviously unwilling. Without another word, he switched the projector off, too upset to look at his Master any longer.

This disturbed him more than anything else that had taken place since the infamous Clone Wars had begun. Friends would turn into enemies, he had known from the beginning; those that you trusted would turn on you, and idealisms were shaken down to their core. War was always disillusioning, and Anakin had thought he had borne all that it could have thrown at him. But to be ordered to spy on the man who had helped him along since childhood, by the man who had taken Anakin under his wing in his time of deepest need, was awful to imagine.

Anakin went to the only place of comfort in this desolate building, which was the Chancellor's study. Palpatine was studying a holographic rendition of what appeared to be a battlefield, his back turned to the room again as he concentrated. Anakin had no idea what excuse he could make for coming in here, but just being near the Chancellor helped to console him, even though he knew that, unwilling messenger though he was, those battle plans would most likely end up before the Jedi Council before long. He had thought his entry noiseless, but after a moment, Palpatine spoke.

"Ah, Anakin, your timing is impeccable," he said. "I was just about to send for you."

"Can I help you with something, Chancellor?" Anakin questioned.

"Yes, as a matter of fact," said Palpatine, moving his chair so Anakin could see it. It had changed, from a map of sorts to a list of clone battalions and where they were stationed, scanning downward so fast that it was near impossible to read. "You would certainly know this better than I. Which battalion have you found to be the most useful?"

Anakin, not expecting this, had to think. "My Master and I worked with Alpha Seven for a month. They were very helpful to us." A smile twitched at the corners of his mouth. "We were with them so long that we got tired of calling them numbers, so we gave them names instead. I think we called their commander 'Cody'."

Palpatine chuckled at the anecdote, then entered something into his computer. It beeped in acceptance, and the hologram shut down. Then suddenly his manner grew serious.

"Anakin, there is also something I must speak to you about," he said. "Something of a much graver nature."

"What is it?" Anakin asked, concerned.

With a sigh, Palpatine gestured for Anakin to sit in the chair opposite the desk. Anakin did so.

"You spoke to the Council just now, did you not?" he asked. Anakin was immediately on his guard, afraid of saying anything incriminating.

"Yes…sort of," he said, fully aware of how lame he sounded.

"What did they have to say to you this time?"

The Jedi shifted uncomfortably in his seat. "Nothing important." Did Palpatine already know? But the Chancellor did not seem angry. On the contrary, he appeared almost worried.

"Anakin," he murmured solemnly, "you know I'm not able to rely on the Jedi Council. You are the closest to me of all of them; if the Council has not included you in their plot, they soon will."

Perplexed, Anakin's brow furrowed. "I'm not sure I—I understand."

"You must sense what I have come to suspect," Palpatine said. "The Jedi Council wants control of the Republic. They're planning to betray me."

The words were spoken calmly—too calmly. As though a cloud had passed over the sun, the room which had been full of light only seconds ago seemed now to be cold and dark, eerie shadows dancing on its walls. Anakin felt a chill run down his spine.

"I don't think—" he began doubtfully.

"_Anakin_," said the Chancellor, as though it was a reprimand. "Search your feelings. You know…don't you?"

Anakin didn't know where to look. The intensity in Palpatine's eyes frightened him—he felt that it was impossible to lie under their steady gaze.

"I know they don't trust you," he conceded cautiously.

"Or the Senate," Palpatine said grimly. "Or the Republic, or _democracy_, for that matter.

Anakin wanted to rise boldly to the defense of his beloved Order, but he couldn't help thinking of his assignment so recently given. Almost without meaning to, the words slipped out. "I have to admit, my trust in them has been shaken."

"Why?"

Anakin kept silent, but that was useless. Every thought that passed through his head, Palpatine seemed to know. It was true; there was no one alive who knew Anakin as well as this man.

"They asked you to do something that made you feel dishonest, didn't they?"

Palpatine's voice was gentle, understanding in a way that made Anakin feel transparent. Only the utmost concentration of willpower held down the confession that begged to be set free, but it didn't matter anyway, because Palpatine said, "They asked you spy on me, didn't they?"

Miserably ashamed, Anakin looked down at the ground. The question needed no confirmation; they both knew it was true.

"I don't know what to say," he mumbled. He had been caught; what would the Chancellor think of him now? But Palpatine apparently considered the Council to blame, rather than Anakin himself, and Anakin could only be grateful for that.

"Remember back to your early teachings," Palpatine instructed him significantly. "All who gain power are afraid to lose it—_even the Jedi_."

"The Jedi use their power for good."

"Good is a point of view, Anakin. The Sith and the Jedi are similar in almost every way, including their quest for greater power."

It was frightening, how much of what Palpatine said seemed to make sense. Anakin struggled to find something to argue with, but even to speak seemed an effort. At last, he managed to say, "The Sith rely on their passion for their strength. They think inwards, only about themselves."

The look Palpatine gave him made Anakin want to shudder. "And the Jedi don't?"

"The Jedi are selfless," Anakin said, taking a breath, but he was drawing on a waning strength. "They only care about others."

"Yes," Palpatine said softly, knowingly. "You of all people, Anakin, would understand that."

The conversation seemed no safer, but Anakin's curiosity was piqued. "What do you mean?" he asked.

"One does not have to be Force-sensitive to discern the pain that you are feeling. You have buried it, but I can feel it still. The pain for Obi-Wan Kenobi perpetuates your existence."

Anakin wished he had not said the name. "Master Kenobi and I were very close," he admitted, unwilling to go further into the matter.

"Tell the truth, Anakin," Palpatine prodded gently. "You miss him…do you not?"

The kindness in the Chancellor's voice broke down every wall Anakin had. Almost choking suddenly, he whispered, "I miss him more than anything."

"So what would you say if I told you that, had the Jedi Council not neglected an enormous part of your training—you would have known the way to save him?"

"There is no way," Anakin answered automatically. Palpatine nodded; the expression on his face was one Anakin had never seen before. He would have said the Chancellor looked _smug_.

"Yes, that is what they would have you believe. But then, you have never heard the story of Darth Plagueis the Wise."

Anakin was immediately cautious, recognizing the title. "No," he replied.

"It's certainly not a story the Jedi would tell you," Palpatine said. "It's a Sith legend. Darth Plagueis was a Dark Lord of the Sith, so powerful, and so wise, that he could use the Force to influence the midichlorians to create…life."

Against his own better judgment, Anakin found himself listening intently, intrigued.

"He had such a knowledge of the Dark Side," Palpatine continued, his voice warm, almost as though he were reminiscing about an old friend. "He could ever keep the ones he cared about from dying."

Anakin swallowed hard. _If I could have—_

"He could actually—save people from death?" he heard himself ask.

"The Dark Side of the Force," Palpatine said, in a voice that dripped with disdain, "is a pathway to many abilities some consider to be _unnatural_." Looking at Anakin with pity in his gaze, he said softly, "No one with such potential as yours has ever attempted it, and many who are less than you have failed. But if the Lord Plagueis could create life, who is to say that you could not do so as well?"

His heartbeat was quickening. "What do you mean?"

Palpatine stood, and walked around the desk to look into Anakin's eyes as the Padawan rose. "I would not know for certain, Anakin, nor would I presume to tell you that I do." His voice was gaining in fervor. "But it is my belief that, if taught properly, you could do more than even Darth Plagueis—you could bring those you loved back from the dead—"

Abruptly, Anakin held up a hand to stop him. He was shaking, unspeakable emotions pulsing through him and empowering him. _It is the Dark Side,_ he told himself furiously, turning his back on Palpatine—but for Obi-Wan—!

Not a sound came from the room around them, and Palpatine never once spoke. His next words came after a long, long silence, and then they came quietly, almost reluctantly.

"Is it possible for me to learn this power?"

Anakin knew, without seeing, that Palpatine was smiling.

"Not from a Jedi."

He turned, to see that his guess was correct. The Chancellor put a strong hand on his right shoulder, guiding him up the steps. "But Anakin, they are not the only ones who understand the uses of the Force. Let me show you its subtleties."

"How do you know the ways of the Force?"

"My mentor taught me everything about the Force," answered Palpatine, with a raised eyebrow. "Even the nature of the Dark Side."

Anakin stepped a few paces ahead of the Chancellor, turning to face him and blocking his way. "You know the Dark Side?" he asked, disbelieving.

"If one is to understand the great mystery, Anakin, one must study all its aspects, not just the dogmatic, narrow view of the Jedi. If you wish to become a complete and wise leader, you must embrace…a larger view of the Force."

With slow, wary steps, Anakin circled around Palpatine, and the Chancellor followed suit. Their eyes were locked, a battle of wills in which Anakin had no idea what he was fighting for.

"Be careful of the Jedi, Anakin," Palpatine warned; his voice was growing lower, deeper, stronger. "Only through me can you achieve a power greater than any Jedi, or any Sith. Learn to know the Dark Side of the Force, and you will be able to conquer death!"

But Anakin had heard, in those last few words, an undertone of a voice that he recognized. "What did you say?" he asked dangerously.

"Use my knowledge, I beg of you," Palpatine said, almost pleading. Yes, there was no mistaking it!

It was the toad.

In an instant, the blade of Anakin's lightsaber was at Palpatine's throat. His hand was steady now.

"It's you," he heard a voice say, and realized with almost a shock that it was his own. His voice, saying these things to the Supreme Chancellor of the Republic? But Anakin _knew_, with a knowledge borne of the Force itself, that he was right. His hand was steady now. "You're the one the Jedi are searching for. You're the Sith Lord."


	14. Selfish Rage and Righteous Anger

Palpatine did not deny it.

"Listen to me," he implored. "Don't continue to be a pawn of the Jedi Council!"

The lightsaber at his throat did not move.

"Ever since I've known you, you've been searching for a life greater than that of an ordinary Jedi," he continued. There was no fear in his tone. "A life of _significance_, of _conscience_." He turned his back to Anakin. "Are you going to kill me?"

"I would certainly like to," Anakin spat through gritted teeth. He saw now how easily he had been played, every word he had said playing right into the Sith's hands, and he hated Palpatine for it with a pure, vengeful hatred. But to kill him now would be murder…

"I know you would," murmured Palpatine, his words cutting through the air like a knife. "I can feel your anger—it gives you focus—makes you stronger—"

_Don't tempt me,_ Anakin thought furiously. "I'm going to turn you in to the Jedi Council," he said. "They will decide what to do with you."

The fact that he was speaking in this way to a Lord of the Sith hit him for the first time. Was this a trap? Did Palpatine mean to attack him as soon as his back was turned? The Sith's next words only confused him further.

"Of course, you should," he said approvingly. And then: "But you're not sure of their intentions, are you?"

"I will learn the truth," Anakin said, deactivating the lightsaber. "You cannot blind me with your lies any longer."

Palpatine nodded. "You have great wisdom, Anakin," he said, that faint, knowing smile still at the corners of his mouth. "If you had known the power of the Dark Side, those that you loved would certainly live still."

Roughly, Anakin brushed past him and went for the door, waiting tensely for Palpatine to strike with every step. Now that the Sith's wall was down, Anakin could sense the Dark Side surrounding him, but no animosity came from it. He reached the door, and then Palpatine spoke again, casually.

"And what of the vow you made to your mother? How can you help but fail in all that you do if you do not use half your power?"

Anakin froze. "How do you know about that?" he asked tersely. Palpatine chuckled.

"I was there on Tatooine when you disobeyed orders and ran to her. In fact, I watched as she died."

"No."

"You would not have seen me, of course," he said. "I was quite certain of that. I could have reached out and touched her—and I could have saved her." He really laughed this time, a hard, cold sound. "But then, why would I have done that, when it was I who put her there in the first place?"

There was suddenly a loud pounding in Anakin's ears. His breath grew fast and shallow. "Don't say anything more," he warned Palpatine, in a voice that trembled with rage. "Don't say a word—" It was a lie, he told himself, just another lie. _He has no power over me now._

"It was on my orders that Count Dooku influenced the Sand People to kidnap your mother. I knew that all you needed was a prod in the right direction, and your thoughts would take you to the Darker side of the Force." The satisfaction in his voice was obvious. "And I was right, wasn't I?"

_Don't do it, don't turn around, don't, don't_—

With a cry of wrath, Anakin whirled, his lightsaber raised to kill. Such was the force of his blow that it would have cut Palpatine in half; instead, all it did was sizzle against the red blade that blocked it. In that instant he saw the triumph in Palpatine's eyes, and Anakin only hated him the more for it.

"Go on, Anakin," hissed the Sith. "Kill me—if you can."

His only answer was to lash out at Palpatine's head, but his blade was halted in midair. In that same instant the Sith waved a hand, and something heavy slammed into the back of Anakin's head. He stumbled backward, dazed, and just barely managed to block Palpatine's lightsaber before it came crashing down on him. The awful absurdity of his situation hit him then: what chance could a Padawan possibly stand against a Sith Master? Palpatine had laid the trap, and Anakin had walked willingly into it. He could have told someone, but now there was no one to warn the Republic of the danger it had brought upon itself.

Palpatine's next blow came with fantastic force, so that it almost knocked Anakin off his feet. "Your anger burns you from the inside," he goaded him. "I can feel it, waiting to be loosed. You cannot defeat me without it, Anakin."

Panting for breath, Anakin ignored the taunts as best he could. Every part of him now was concentrated solely on survival, but his fighting had gained a sort of hopeless desperation, and all Anakin could do was keep telling himself, _Thirty seconds and someone will come through that door. Twenty seconds—ten—_ And when no one came, he would start over.

"Give in," Palpatine whispered, and somehow his voice could be heard even over the hum of the clashing lightsabers. "Think of them, Anakin, think of Obi-Wan, think of your mother. For once, you can take what you _really _want, without the Jedi Council's permission."

Anakin's limbs were weakening fast against the massive strength that Palpatine bore down upon him with; it was like being hit with a hammer, or slamming into a giant wall of rock.

"What I really want," he replied through gritted teeth, "is to see you _dead_!"

He swung his lightsaber again to strike, but Palpatine twisted his red blade, and Anakin's weapon flew wildly out of his hand, jabbing a ragged hole in the wall before hitting the floor several feet away. Anakin made a move toward it, but Palpatine was quicker. Lightning shot from his outstretched fingers, and before Anakin had time to move a muscle he was thrown back against the wall, crying out as horrible, searing agony split across every inch of his body. Screams for mercy tore from his lips, but the lightning came unchecked as Palpatine jabbed his fingers savagely in Anakin's direction, until he had almost passed out from the pain.

In the moment afterwards, there was utter silence. The air was completely gone from Anakin's lungs—it was all he could do to keep breathing as he watched Palpatine from across the room, entirely helpless. Slowly, Anakin tried to push himself to his feet, using the wall as a crutch, his limbs shaking uncontrollably; Palpatine did nothing. At last, he managed to stand. Palpatine strode toward him and held the glowing lightsaber blade under his chin, but it was a pointless gesture: Anakin could not have moved of his own volition if he had been forced to. It was all he could do to remain upright.

"It is not over yet," Palpatine said softly. "The Dark Side is a powerful master, Anakin—serve it well, and it will reward you."

"I'm not a murderer," Anakin spat with the last vestiges of breath in him.

"It appears I underestimated you, then," Palpatine said, almost mournfully. "It is a shame—it seems a waste to destroy such promise."

Now, when the veil was lifted, Anakin wondered how they ever could have failed to see what was right in front of them. The pure, black evil glowing from Palpatine's eyes burned so strongly that it seemed impossible that Anakin could have looked into those eyes hundreds of times before and never once seen it.

_The Jedi will know,_ he thought, hope bursting suddenly inside of him. _They'll see me—they'll recognize a lightsaber wound—_

But Anakin had forgotten that Palpatine was no stranger to picking up others' thoughts. The Sith chuckled.

"In that you are correct," he said. "But there will be no more Jedi when you are discovered. Look at this." With his free hand Palpatine took something from his robes, something very small and metallic. "This is a transmitter, set to an encompassing frequency. When I press this button, a message will be sent to every last clone in the army, and they will obey the Order I prepared for them as soon as they were created." The Dark Side around Palpatine was swirling and pulsing fervently, as though it were laughing in triumph along with its vessel. "Before the night is gone, every last Jedi in the galaxy will be dead, by the hands of their own soldiers."

Anakin had gone numb; he could not even feel his heart beating. His dearest friends, his closest companions, his teachers, his guides, hundreds of students who were only children—Palpatine would murder them all.

"This is the dawning of a new era," the Sith cried. "Today will be known as the day that the Jedi fell." His gaze met Anakin's critically. "And you, the Chosen One, who was said to bring balance to the Force—you have failed them dismally."

He pressed the button.

"No," Anakin breathed helplessly, but it had already been done. He stared at the transmitter, frozen with shock, willing time to reverse itself or for this all to be a bad dream. But the horror gave him strength—sudden adrenaline surged through his veins, and Anakin swiftly called his lightsaber to his hand, only for his weak stroke to be blocked yet again as Palpatine caught the blade above his own.

"The Jedi are no more," said Palpatine cruelly. "You are beaten. You have lost."

But Anakin shook his head stubbornly. "Not yet," he managed.

He did not bother to try another futile battle, knowing that he could only fail. But in what he did, he moved quickly, knowing that Palpatine would catch him at it in only a moment. Anakin shoved as hard as he could on the hilt of his weapon, forcing it past Palpatine's blade—and just before the Sith understood what was happening, the lightsaber had already penetrated his chest.

Palpatine swayed on the spot, a look of shock in his darkened eyes. Anakin waited tensely, almost expecting him to recover—but then, in what seemed to be a miracle, his eyes went blank and he slowly crumpled to the floor.

Anakin wanted nothing more than to sink to his knees and fall into dreamless, peaceful sleep, but the knowledge of what he had to prevent kept him on his feet, despite the shock that threatened to overwhelm him. He fumbled with shaking fingers for his commlink and set it to Windu's frequency.

"Hello?"

"Master," Anakin gulped frantically. "The clones, they're on Palpatine's side, you have to be careful—"

Windu's voice was, understandably, puzzled. "Anakin, what are you talking about?"

"It's Palpatine!" Anakin cried. Hysterical tears were running down his face. "He's the Sith Lord, he's the one that trained Count Dooku, and he ordered the clones to kill every Jedi they could find, just now! They're sure to attack the Temple, so you've got to be ready, you've got to tell them—"

"Anakin, are you all right? Anakin!"

But Windu was too late. Anakin Skywalker, tired beyond comprehension and still fighting off the effects of the Force-lightning, had collapsed onto the ground. The commlink fell from his limp fingers and rolled to a stop next to the corpse beside him.

* * *

In unconsciousness, time either seems to pass very swiftly, or it does not seem to pass at all. The latter was Anakin's experience; were it not for the interminably bright morning sunlight streaming through the window, he would have sworn that he had been out for seconds. What woke him, however, was not the sunlight, but rather a loud, piercing scream that seemed to physically jolt every bone in his body. Anakin jerked; the noise ended as the screamer ran out of breath, then immediately began again. 

Somehow, he mustered the strength to sit up, and then instantly regretted the move. His arms and legs were miserably sore, and he had a pounding headache; Anakin reached up to touch the back of his head, and his hand came away sticky with blood. It was then that he looked up for the first time, to see the Bothan who had first accompanied him through these halls—and whose name he had never learned—shrieking at the top of her lungs, obviously in the throes of hysterics.

First things first: Anakin pulled himself up to a standing position, waited a moment for his legs to start working again, then walked slowly over to where the Bothan stood. Her eyes on the Palpatine, her screams never ceasing, she hardly noticed Anakin until he hit her smartly across the face. She gulped and choked for a moment, then seemed to get a shaky hold of herself.

"Wh-what happened to the Chancellor?" she asked, looking from Anakin to Palpatine and back again.

"He's been killed," Anakin answered unnecessarily, hoping she wouldn't make the connection between him and the lightsaber sticking out of Palpatine's chest. "Contact the Jedi Council; tell them to come as quickly as they can."

Fearfully the Bothan nodded and left the room, looking back over her shoulder as she did so. As soon as she was gone, Anakin took his lightsaber from the ground and clipped it back on his belt, and then sagged against the wall, trying to take stock of all that had happened and understand what it meant.

Supreme Chancellor Palpatine was a Sith, a traitor to the Republic. The Jedi would believe him certainly, but the Senate might not be so easy to persuade. Anakin was shrewd enough to realize that he stood on dangerous ground; he could just as easily be accused of Palpatine's murder as hailed for the Republic's salvation, and only the testimony of the Council could save him. For, if they confirmed the fact that the clones had actually attacked them while under Palpatine's orders, there was nothing the Senate could deny.

Force, the clones! Anakin's eyes, lazily drifting shut, now snapped open. He had forgotten all about Palpatine's last threats in the dull, bleak aftermath of battle, but now they came rushing back to him. He had warned them as fast as he could possibly have done so, but what if he had been too late?

The Bothan came rushing back into the room. "Sir, I tried to contact the Council, but the only people there were a bunch of children," she said. Anakin's mouth suddenly went very dry. The Council room was where younglings went in case of an emergency—not many could fit inside, but the chamber had the benefit of a lock which only a Council member could undo after its activation. If younglings had been sent into the Council chamber, then the attack must have taken place after all…

"Did they say anything?" he demanded. The Bothan shook her head.

"I'm sorry, sir," she said helplessly. "They were too frightened to make any sense."

Anakin buried his head in his hands, sinking down against the wall until he was on his knees. If only he had called sooner, if only he hadn't fainted like a _girl_, he could have averted this disaster. But the thought reminded him of another hope; looking around for his commlink, Anakin found it in a fold of Palpatine's robe. He took it gingerly and tried Windu's frequency.

Nothing happened.

In terrified frustration, Anakin was about to throw the commlink against the opposite wall as hard as he could when he heard the sound of several footsteps coming his way. He looked up, to see the entire Jedi Council standing before him, Master Yoda at their head.

His heart leapt, and he tried to stand. It was much harder than he'd thought it would be, but Windu strode swiftly toward him and gripped his arm, giving Anakin something to hold on to.

"You're hurt," Windu said concernedly, helping Anakin toward a chair.

"Not really," Anakin said as he sat. "It's just a scrape, I'll be fine…" It was then that he noticed that the wrist of his left hand had begun to swell, and was in the process of turning nasty shades of purple and green. Anakin could only surmise that he must have twisted it wrongly during the battle. "Oh…yeah, I guess so." It hadn't hurt before, but now that he noticed it, the injury had begun to throb painfully, tender to the touch.

"We'll find a med droid to bind it," Windu promised him, kneeling by his Padawan's side. "Anakin, _what happened_?"

Everyone in the room was waiting for his response, even the forgotten Bothan assistant. Knowing it was important, Anakin forced himself to remember everything about last night.

"Palpatine started talking to me after you called—he knew what you'd asked me to do, and he used it to make me feel guilty. He started telling me things. About the Dark Side, about what it could do. He said that only using the Light Side of the Force was…narrow, and dogmatic, and that he could teach me more about the Force, things that you wouldn't tell me." Anakin took a gulp of air, uncomfortably conscious of everyone's eyes upon him. "That was when I figured out who he was. I told him I was going to turn him in, but then he told me…" Anakin's voice trailed off ashamedly. He could have told Windu, had they been alone, but this was like admitting his faults to the world. When he continued, it was in a very small voice. "He told me that—he'd been responsible for my mother's death—and I was so angry at him I couldn't help myself."

Anakin looked into Windu's eyes for the first time, pleading for understanding. "I didn't mean to fight him, I swear I didn't, but I just couldn't bear it. He said he watched her die."

Windu's hand moved to Anakin's shoulder, a slight but comforting gesture. "It's all right," he said softly. "Keep going."

Anakin shrugged. There wasn't much more to tell. "We started fighting. I thought I was going to die, but then he told me what he planned to do—about the clones, I mean. He had a transmitter that would tell all the clones to attack whenever he activated it—and he did, right in front of me." He looked downward. "And that was when I killed him."

Windu started visibly; it was the only time Anakin had ever seen him outwardly perturbed. Master Eeth Koth stepped forward and put two fingers to Palpatine's cold neck, then looked up at Anakin, surprise shown in his eyes. "Well done," he commended Anakin quietly.

Uncomfortable, Anakin ducked his head. "I tried to warn you, but I guess I fainted," he mumbled, then caught his breath sharply as he remembered. "You're—you're all right, aren't you? Everyone's all right? Was anyone killed?"

"We sent out an emergency message to all Jedi units as soon as we got your message," Windu assured him. "We didn't have much time, though, because they attacked the Temple almost as soon as we'd finished sending it."

"But everyone's all right?" Anakin repeated anxiously. Apparently deciding there was no point in holding back anything, Windu shook his head.

"Not everyone," he said unhappily. "Some of the younglings—the ones who couldn't make it to the Council room in time—they held their own, but at least three are dead. We haven't done a full count yet. A few Knights, too, but no one's sure who they are. We came as soon as the fighting was over, and we sent another message, telling the Jedi who were in other systems to report back as soon as possible so we could know they were safe."

Windu's eyes fell again to Anakin's bruising wrist. He looked over at the Bothan in the corner.

"Is there a med droid available?" he asked. The Bothan nodded and, anticipating his next order, went to fetch it. Windu pushed himself to his feet, standing beside Anakin's chair.

"Before the Order of the Sith was nearly destroyed," he said, in a voice that the twelve other people in the room could hear quite clearly, "the only qualification for becoming a Knight, as you know, was to kill a Sith. Times have changed; that is no longer our way. But Anakin has accomplished something that very few Masters can claim; therefore, I make a motion to the Council that he be allowed to skip the Trials and become a Knight of the Jedi Order."

Leaning steadily on his cane, Master Yoda nodded. "Doubted you before, the Council has, young Skywalker," he said, not one to mince words. "But proved us wrong, you have. Agree with this motion, I do."

"Aye," said Adi Gallia, speaking for the first time, and the word swept across the room. Ultimately, the decision was unanimous; Anakin was to be the one of the first Jedi in a thousand years to become a Knight without taking the Trials.

No sooner had the vote been finished than the Bothan reentered the room, closely followed by a medical droid. With a soft whirring noise, it made its way over to Anakin and waited expectantly. Tentatively, Anakin held out his arm, and the med droid pulled a bandage and some bacta seemingly out of nowhere and began treating the injury. Anakin hissed in pain as his wrist was splinted; on the other side of the room, he could hear his Master talking quietly to the other Council members.

"You had better go back," Windu said in a low voice. "I'll take him with me later."

The Council left, sans one of its members, and Windu walked over to where Anakin sat, wincing with pain. At last, the med droid ceased its ministrations and exited the room, to Anakin's great relief.

"What do we do with _that_?" he asked awkwardly, nodding in the direction of Palpatine's body. Windu looked thoughtful for a moment, then spoke to the Bothan.

"Make arrangements for the funeral," he ordered. "Make it elaborate, make it grand, and expensive. Can you do that?"

She nodded, frightened, and scurried out of the room once again. Anakin pitied her; she had had a very trying morning. Windu turned to him.

"Ready to go?" he asked. Anakin nodded and stood, walking beside his Master as they went toward the hangar.

"Elaborate?" he repeated confusedly. "Master, he was a Sith—he deserves to be tossed into a hole!"

"No man is one thing only," Windu said as they walked into the open air. "He was a Sith, but he was also Supreme Chancellor of the Galactic Republic, for good or for bad, and as such he deserves respect." He climbed into a nearby speeder, and Anakin sat down beside him. Over the noise of the engine as the speeder took off, Windu had to raise his voice. "Besides, it will save a lot of trouble in the long run. I'm not excited about the investigation that I know the Senate will initiate: it'll be bad enough explaining to them why you killed the Supreme Chancellor. I wouldn't want to be the one that told them I threw him in a hole as well."

Anakin gave a little laugh, then fell silent. Windu looked at him again.

"Something's troubling you," he said. "What is it?'

Anakin had no desire to speak, but he couldn't hide his worries now. He stared down at the plush red seat, determined not to look at his Master. "He—Palpatine—he told me things that the Dark Side could do. Things that couldn't be done with the Light Side of the Force. And I—I believed him."

There was a pause.

"Things?" Windu questioned. Anakin swallowed. Now that he said them aloud, they sounded so silly, so ridiculously impossible, but when Palpatine had said them, they had all been true.

"He told me that…somehow, I could bring Obi-Wan and my mom back to life," he said quietly.

"Anakin," Windu began, "Nothing in the Force has the power to—"

"I know, I know!" Anakin moaned, his head falling into his hands. "But you don't know what it was like, listening to him—I _knew_ he could do it. He made me believe it." He looked up at his Master, wretchedly scathing. "He told me what I wanted to hear, and I ate it up and begged for more. I know you think I should be Knighted because I killed him, but it wasn't like that! It wasn't because I was stronger than him or—or anything like that! I was just mad that I'd believed his lies so easily." The question that had been haunting Anakin's mind ever since he had woken up was finally voiced. "How can I be a Jedi Knight if I can only defeat my enemies when I'm angry?"

Windu waited a long time before answering, his eyes on the sky in front of him. Anakin was grateful for the silence; it gave him time to breathe. At last, Windu spoke.

"First of all," he said finally, "It is true that the Dark Side is able to accomplish things that the Light side of the Force cannot do. But it is in no way more powerful; it is faster, easier, but relying on an emotion for strength is very dangerous indeed. And in the end, you will end up losing your soul to it." He paused again.

"Secondly, Anakin—there is more than one sort of anger. You have fought with both, I believe, and don't try to deny it. I have seen you give in to selfish rage in the past, and use that as your weapon. But there is such a thing as righteous anger, and it is that, I believe, which you used against Palpatine last night. That too," he admitted, "holds its perils, but it is far less dangerous than the anger of the Dark Side, because it is selfless. You fought because you disliked being misled, because you had a desire to know the truth and were thwarted, and because he gave you hope in things you wanted desperately but could not have."

To Anakin's utmost relief, it made sense. He felt the painful nervousness in his stomach dissolving, and he leaned back against the seat.

"I would warn you, however," Windu continued, "not to become too heavily reliant on that sort of anger, either. Both are addictive, to some extent."

Anakin nodded, but he knew that his was a personality easily roused to wrath. "I'll try," he offered. Windu nodded.

"I suppose that's all I can ask of you," he said—but he sounded pleased. There was one thing more, however, that nagged at Anakin's thoughts.

"Do you think—" he began hesitantly. "Do you think that he really was there, on Tatooine, the night my mother died?" He gulped. "Do you think…he really did kill her?"

But Windu only shook his head. "You cannot ask me that, Anakin," he said. "I have no way of knowing, any more than you do. It's possible—that's all I can say. There are some times when we have no way of knowing the truth."

Anakin nodded resignedly, and was thoughtfully silent for the remainder of the short trip.


	15. Twenty Seven

**Author's Note: Yay! 101 reviews! This is the first story that I've ever gotten over a hundred reviews for. I'm so happy... Ok, there's something you should know: as Jedi Master Kekelina so astutely pointed out, Anakin is not "the first Jedi in a thousand years to become a Knight without taking the Trials." That was actually Obi-Wan, whom I _completely_ forgot about when writing the last chapter. So I offer my humble apologies to anybody else who noticed that and thought with shock, "Could the author have been mistaken? Surely not!" She was.

* * *

**

When they arrived back at the Temple, Anakin was shocked. He had known, of course, that a battle had been taken place, but the connotations of that had failed him. Now looking down as they began, he saw a mass of white things dotting the stone below them, and realized with a start that they were bodies.

As soon as they landed Anakin practically jumped out of the seat. He couldn't bear to be still a moment longer, knowing what had happened. It was the strangest sensation—it would have been easier to comprehend if there had been fires and destruction, piles of rubble and blood everywhere, but instead all else was as he had left it. Pristine statues gazed serenely down at them, unmoved by the disturbance; tall, elegant stone columns remained, unchanged, in their place—but among them lay the bodies of perhaps hundreds of men. Anakin ran a hand through his hair breathlessly as he surveyed the surrealistic scene.

"Have any bodies been identified?" he asked.

"A few," Windu replied, "but we had no time for a thorough investigation. That, I'm afraid, is the unpleasant task before us."

Something caught the corner of Anakin's eye, a spot of darkness against all the white. He moved quickly toward it, fear pounding in his chest, and Windu followed him.

Half-buried underneath the body of a clone was another body, that of a boy who could hardly have been fifteen. Even as he fell, it appeared, he had stabbed his attacker through the heart, and the clone had collapsed on top of him. Anakin gingerly turned the boy over. His hair was dark brown and hung over his eyes, his features sharp—he looked faintly familiar, but Anakin could not have guessed at his name.

"We should take him inside," Windu said softly. He moved to lean down and pick up the body, but Anakin stopped him, never taking his eyes from the boy's face. He could have sworn… Quickly, he moved a hand to the boy's open mouth, praying that he had not been mistaken. But there was nothing.

And then he felt, very faintly, a puff of air on his fingers.

"He—he's alive," Anakin breathed, his voice shaking. The wonderfulness of what he was saying hit him, and he couldn't stop a smile from breaking over his face. "Master, he's alive!"

"Are you sure?" Windu asked. Anakin had already taken the boy into his arms as though he weighed nothing, careful to put the lesser weight on his injured wrist. The youth's leg was bloodied and torn.

"I think he's in a healing trance," Anakin said, eying the wound. "I can take him to the med ward."

Windu nodded his approval of this plan, but already Anakin was gone, walking as fast as he could with his unconscious burden. When at length he reached the med ward, he tried to find an empty room, but many Jedi had been wounded. A few red-eyed healers who had kept a vigil here all night long still walked the sterile white halls—Anakin intercepted one of these.

"Excuse me," he said, his voice quiet, "Is there some place I can put him?"

The healer looked down at the boy in Anakin's arms, wearily brushing a straw-colored strand of hair from a round face.

"I'm sorry, there aren't any more rooms," she replied softly. "I can get some bacta for his leg and a bandage, though."

She ducked into a room for a moment, and emerged seconds later with the promised items.

"Thanks," Anakin said gratefully, taking them in one hand. Setting the boy down in a nearby chair, he tried to open the jar of bacta, but found that his left hand was almost useless.

"Here, let me help you," said the healer suddenly, reaching for the jar and twisting the lid off easily. Anakin gave a little laugh and took it back.

"Thank you," he said again. "I'm afraid I won't be of much help to anybody just now." He indicated his hand ruefully.

"Well, you're not the only one," the healer said, tossing a glance up the hallway. "There must be at least fifteen, twenty people that got so badly wounded that they couldn't fight anymore."

"Are they all right?" Anakin blurted out, then quickly corrected himself as the healer gave him a bemused look. "I mean, they're stable? They won't die?"

Finally understanding, she nodded. "Most of them," she said. "One or two, I think, aren't entirely safe, but—most of the ones that were critically wounded died before we even got them here."

Pretending to himself that he hadn't heard, Anakin knelt and began administering the bacta gently to the boy's wounded leg with his right hand. He didn't want to hear about the ones who had been killed—but on the other hand, lending anonymity to the dead created uncertainty, which was far worse than definite knowledge…

"Do you know the names of any dead?" he asked, not looking up. He heard the healer let out a pensive breath as she thought.

"I don't," she admitted finally. "I've been here all night—I don't think anyone has a number yet. No one even knows what happened. It's been so confusing—if the Masters hadn't had warning, no one would have stood a chance."

Anakin fumbled with the bandage, but managed to get it wrapped, if clumsily. He stood. "I know you're busy," he said apologetically, "but could you please look after him for me? You don't have to do anything special—" he said hurriedly, as she opened her mouth to speak. "I know there aren't any rooms or anything, but if you could just tell me when he wakes up—"

The healer was smiling at him, in what was obviously the first time she had smiled in a long time, and her face seemed to light up with relief as she did so. It is a very difficult thing, to be sad for so long.

"I'll make sure to find you," she promised. "What's your name?"

"Anakin," he replied. "I might be in the Council room, so you could look for me there."

She raised a questioning eyebrow, but Anakin had no desire to tell her of his role in this grisly drama.

"Well, let me know if you find out anything worth knowing," she said at last. "Ask for Tanith."

Anakin nodded, repeated his thanks once more, and then left. As he walked, he kept his eyes straight ahead, not daring to look to the side for fear that he would see something besides white. He continued in this way until he reached the doors of the Council chamber itself, then entered without knocking.

Master Koth and Master Windu were the only ones in the room, speaking to the figure of a woman on the holo-projector. Anakin had enough sense to keep quiet; Windu noticed him standing in the corner, but said nothing.

"Forgive me, Master Jedi," the woman said icily, "but the evidence of a mere boy is hardly enough to turn the tide of feeling in your favor."

"Senator Amidala, the Council as well is giving evidence on this matter," Windu said sharply. "You would be a fool to discount all of our words in your prejudice toward the Chancellor." He looked at Anakin and nodded toward the chair at his right. Anakin, uncomfortably aware of the fact that they were speaking of him—as well as the fact that he was sitting where Master Yoda usually did—was hardly at ease as he did so.

"I will not deny that—" the woman began, then stopped as her eyes fell on Anakin, who shifted uneasily in his seat. "This is he, then?"

No one spoke. Anakin, suddenly realizing that he was supposed to answer, bit down on his tongue nervously. "Er, yes—Palpatine's death was my doing," he admitted. Already this woman had marked him as her enemy.

"And you will swear, _before Galactic Court,_" she pressed intensely, "that you did so under the belief that the Supreme Chancellor was a Sith Lord?"

Anakin looked from Master Koth to Windu and back again, but neither seemed to be willing to give him a hint. "Yes," he said finally. "I would. I killed him in defense of my own life, and thousands of others as well."

The senator's eyes narrowed, and then, as if deciding that Anakin was of no further importance, she turned back to Windu. "I will not deny that the Jedi were attacked," she contended, as though Anakin had never even entered the picture. "On that, your evidence is solid. But of the Chancellor's guilt in this matter you have no proof but for this boy's word."

"The Jedi Council believes him," said Master Koth, his words almost a growl. "Every last one of us. Surely that alone is enough proof that what he says is true. And if the clones were under Palpatine's control as he insisted they be, how can you explain the fact that they did, indisputably, attempt to assassinate the Jedi?"

Senator Amidala dismissed this with a toss of her head. "The clone army has many leaders under the Chancellor," she argued. "Anyone might have given the order." She fixed Anakin with a look that obviously meant him no good. "You are expected in Court, Jedi Skywalker," she said stiffly, "in two weeks time, to make your defense. I will see you then."

Abruptly the holo-projector switched off. Anakin found that he had been holding his breath anxiously for quite some time and now let it out. Windu, seeing the expression on his face, hastened to reassure him.

"Senator Amidala was extremely loyal to Palpatine," he said by way of explanation, "but her loyalty has blinded her to common sense. The rest of the Senate will not be so prejudiced."

Anakin wasn't much reassured, but he didn't show it. Instead, he said, "Master, I came to ask if there was anything I could do to help you."

Windu considered this a moment. "The number of those dead and their names is still uncertain," he said at last. "If you and a few others could make a count for us, it would be appreciated." His eyes rested gently on Anakin's face, and there was a match of knowledge in their gazes. Windu knew the pain that death caused his apprentice, but Anakin had come to understand that whatever his Master told him to do was, eventually, for his own good. He bowed his head in deference, and left the room.

Windu gave the order easily, but actually finding someone to help him in his distasteful task was more difficult than one might have thought. Masters and Padawans had been separated during the fight, friends had gone missing, and no one was willing to stop their own search to participate in Anakin's. At length, however, he found Ferus helping a few Knights to drag some of the clones out of the Temple, and enlisted his help. Ferus was to take the west side of the Temple, Anakin the east.

Walking through the enormous building, Anakin's insides turned to lead every time he stepped through a doorway into the next chamber. Every room unaccounted for meant one more opportunity for more dead. Whenever he did find a Jedi corpse among the clones, Anakin would repeat their name to himself, embedding it into his mind with the Force so he could give a complete list back to the Council. He didn't know what they'd do with the bodies, and he didn't care—he just left them where he found them, and continued on.

By himself, the job would have taken him half the night; as it was, twilight was already falling by the time he and Ferus met in the Room of a Thousand Fountains, their prearranged meeting place.

"How many?" Anakin asked breathlessly as he sat down beside his friend.

"Twelve," Ferus answered. "You?"

"Fifteen."

Anakin had his back turned to the rest of the room as he sat back on his heels on the fountain's wide stone edge, staring into the sheet of water that rushed downward. "Twenty-seven," he said unnecessarily. "It's not so bad, I guess, but…" His voice trailed off, and Ferus understood. Neither of them spoke for a moment, then Ferus broke the silence.

"I found a group of younglings in one of their classrooms," he murmured. "They'd gone in there to hide, but the clones found them. Three of them—"

"I know," Anakin said brusquely. "Master Windu told me."

"One of them was Kahli," said Ferus softly. "I thought you should know."

Anakin did not move—somewhere deep within him, something was screaming at the top of its lungs, cursing the cruelty of a universe that could do this to such good, such _innocent_ people, people that had risked their own lives time and again for the sake of others. Several minutes went by without a word, and then Anakin stood.

"We should go back," he said. "The Council's expecting us."

Together they made their way through the halls. They had almost reached the Council room when Ferus halted abruptly and turned to his friend. Anakin would have kept walking, but the expression on Ferus's face stopped him.

"Anakin, do you think that the Jedi who—who are on other planets now—" Ferus took a breath and changed tacks. "How long do you think it would take someone on another planet to get the Council's message and respond—after they'd sent it, I mean?"

It was rare that Ferus was so ill at ease about anything. Anakin shrugged.

"An hour, maybe two," he said. "And that's stretching."

Something almost imperceptible changed in Ferus's eyes. Anyone else would not have noticed, and Anakin hardly did, but normally his friend's tranquility was so unshakeable that he took it very seriously. "Why? Ferus, what's wrong?"

Ferus turned away from Anakin's gaze, not knowing where to look as he took a shaking breath. "It's Siri," he said finally. His voice was close to the breaking point. "Anakin, I haven't heard from her, not once, and it's been so long—and there were so many clones on Galantos—"

For the first time ever, Anakin saw tears in Ferus's eyes, and his own pain abated. He felt terribly selfish for not having found this out sooner.

"Why didn't you say anything?" he asked. Ferus shrugged.

"There was already so much going on," he said, attempting to smile carelessly through the tears, "and I didn't want to jump to conclusions, but I can't help worrying—"

Without a word, Anakin put his arms around his friend, and Ferus clung to him silently. Everything in his world had suddenly been skewed, it seemed: the Supreme Chancellor himself was a Sith Lord, the bodies of the Republic's own soldiers littered the floors of the Temple, and Ferus, the calm, imperturbable one of the pair, was crying. Being the person he was, however, it was not long before he drew back and began to shakily collect himself.

"I'm sorry—being silly—" he muttered.

"Ferus, she's be fine," Anakin reassured his friend. "I'm sure of it. You know Siri couldn't get herself killed by a couple of clones."

Words were meaningless, but they helped all the same. Ferus managed a sincere, if trembling, smile, and together they stepped inside the Council chamber. Only Master Koth was there this time, looking up as they entered.

"Well?" he asked.

"Twenty-seven," Anakin said again, and rattled off the names. He did not let himself connect a name with a face, for then there would be no stopping the emotions that would flow. When he had finished, Ferus completed the list. At the end of the gruesome recital, Master Koth's face was very grave indeed.

"Thank you both very much," he said softly. "Anakin, I believe your Master wanted to see you. He's in the east hangar."

Anakin bowed and turned to leave, and just before the door closed behind him, heard the words, "Padawan Olin, we've just received word from Galantos…". He didn't know what to make of them until he felt Ferus's relief surge almost palpably through the Force, and he smiled. For one more day, at least, Ferus would be spared the same anguish that had tormented Anakin for so long.

The short run to the east hangar took him but a moment—Windu was using the Force to help pile white-armored corpses into the open-sided military transports. Anakin jogged up to him.

"Master, you wanted to see me?" he asked. Windu never took his eyes from his task.

"Did you get the list?" he asked. Anakin repeated for the third time the number deceased, and gave Windu what names he knew. He was answered with a heavy sigh.

"We were fortunate, at least," Windu said. "It might have been many more."

"Is there anything else you need me to do?" Anakin asked, then offered, reluctantly, "Do you want me to tell the Masters and Padawans of the people that died?"

For the first time Windu turned to look at his apprentice's careworn face. He smiled slightly. "No, Anakin, I'll attend to that. You've done enough for today; go get some rest."

Anakin frowned. "Master, I can stay," he protested. "I don't think I should leave now, when there's so much to do."

Windu allowed himself to look slightly annoyed. "Anakin, if you don't consider saving the entire universe to be enough for one day, then I doubt that hauling a few clones around could satisfy you. You need it, so get some sleep."

"I just don't think—"

"_Anakin._"

His mouth twisted irritably, Anakin bowed and began walking up the steps, but Windu called after him.

"Make sure to be in the Council chamber early tomorrow morning," he said. Anakin turned.

"What for?" he asked. Windu raised an eyebrow.

"For your Knighting ceremony, of course," he said. "Of course, considering the circumstances, I hope you'll understand if some of the usual pageantry is missing, but formalities should still be observed, I think."

A broad grin spread across Anakin's face, and he shook his head. "No, I don't mind," he said. "Thank you, Master."

Within moments, he had made his way upstairs to his room. Per his Master's orders, Anakin laid down on the bed, but he had no intention of sleeping. However, it wasn't long before his eyes fell closed, and his breathing grew slow and even, in the only peace Anakin had known all day. Windu was right; he had needed it.

* * *

**Ok, I know I said that Amidala wouldn't show up in this story at all, but I simply couldn't resist sticking her in there, as more of a cameo character than anything. Please bear in mind that most/all of the ideas in this story come from me sitting, bored, at my desk, then suddenly sitting straight up with the thought, "_Hey_, wouldn't it be cool if..."**


	16. Healing Hands

What was meant to be a two-minute rest lasted much longer than that; Anakin awoke several hours later, and immediately recalled his Master's command of last night. He was dressed in an instant, then pulled a cloak over his shoulders as he strode out of the room.

The halls were still dark, but passing the windows near a hangar Anakin saw the sun beginning to show over the horizon, casting muted light down over Coruscant. Beautiful morning colors of pink and gold, crimson and blue were cast over the clouds. Anakin had intended to go straight to the Council chamber, certainly not wanting to keep them waiting, but the temptation proved too much, and he needed a moment to collect his racing thoughts. He opened the door and stepped out onto the docking bay.

The cold, crisp air hit him immediately, playing with the ends of his cloak and ruffling his hair. Anakin crossed his arms across his chest for warmth, but he enjoyed the cold. It seemed to heighten his senses, making him feel more alive than usual.

_Me, _Anakin thought, throwing his mind back to the matter at hand. _Me, a Jedi Knight._ A bit of the original reluctance still lingered, but he could hardly keep himself from being excited, or a little scared, for that matter. At last, what he had longed for almost all his life was coming true, and now that it was here Anakin couldn't help but have misgivings.

"But he trusts me," Anakin told the wind quietly. "If he thinks I can do it, then maybe I can."

The sun was higher now, and the light was growing brighter as it shone in Anakin's eyes. He squinted, but did not look away, as it slowly rose in all its golden glory. And then he went back inside.

Knowing he was late, Anakin sped up his pace, feeling ashamed now that he had wasted the Council's time for a sunrise when there was so much that needed to be done. By the time he reached the Council chamber, he was almost running.

For the first time since the attack, all twelve members of the Council were seated in their places. It was a blessing, Anakin knew, that none of them had been killed. He stepped forward into the middle of the room and bowed, and realized for the first time the magnitude of what was to happen.

"Anakin Skywalker," said Master Windu from his chair, his voice solemn. "You come before the Council today to take upon yourself the title of Jedi Knight, and with it all the duties and responsibilities of such a rank. Do you consider yourself ready for this step?"

Before Obi-Wan's death, Anakin had seen Windu as sternness embodied, and couldn't have helped fearing him a bit. Over the months, that feeling had faded, but the man that sat before him now was almost a different person, and Anakin was beginning to remember why he had been afraid of him.

"I do, Master," he said, meeting Windu's gaze unflinchingly, but not without effort. Master Yoda rose from his seat.

"Kneel, young Skywalker," he commanded. Anakin stepped forward until he was only a foot from where Yoda stood, and fell to his knees before him. At any other time, he would have thought it amusing that, even now, he was taller than the most esteemed Jedi Master on the planet. But the solemnity of the occasion pressed down upon him, and Anakin was not the least bit tempted to smile.

In a voice that was low, yet still heard by all in the room, Anakin repeated the words Master Yoda gave him, swearing with a powerful oath to uphold the Jedi Code, protect those that were weaker than he, fight until his last breath against the evils of the Dark Side. The phrases were nothing new, simply a different version of what was drilled into children's heads from the first day they came to the Temple, but now each word seemed imbued with an unconquerable power. They filled him with strong, wild purpose, with a hunger to realize the promises he was making, and Anakin felt as he spoke that he could have done anything at all in that moment.

He closed his eyes as the last utterance fell from his lips, and felt a gentle pressure on the side of his head. A hand moved his curls aside and reached for the familiar weight of the braid—Anakin's breath caught in his throat as he felt it slide from his shoulder to the ground. In that same instant he felt a tugging at the back of his head, and his ante-lock was suddenly gone as well. Over eleven years he had grown so used to them that he felt oddly off-balance now. He opened his eyes, his head bowed, strangely calm.

"Much you have endured," said Master Yoda softly, "and long you have waited for this moment. Rise, Anakin Skywalker—Jedi Knight."

Anakin stood, waiting for emotion to overwhelm him. But he felt nothing, no surge of joy, no sadness in reminiscence. It was as though all capabilities for excitement, nervousness, _anything_, had been sucked swiftly from him. Standing beside Yoda, Windu wore a gratified smile on his face.

"I am very proud of you, Anakin," he said. It was a moment before Anakin could catch his breath. He did not take his eyes off Windu's face.

"Obi-Wan would have been proud of me, as well," he said. It was not a statement, however, but an ill-disguised question. Windu knew this, and he nodded, and it was that small gesture that brought all of Anakin's dormant emotions fully to the front. All of a sudden he felt as though he would explode, unable to contain the enormity of everything. With a shaking breath, he managed to calm himself once more, though leftover butterflies still danced in his stomach.

Sitting down, immediately Windu was all business once again. "Ordinarily, you understand," he said, "the Council would assign you missions of lesser significance, seeing as this is your first time without a Master to guide you. However, every mission that the Jedi undertake now must, for a time, be only those which are of the utmost urgency."

Anakin's mind was still running dazedly over the words, _Me, a Knight_, but he forced himself back to the present.

"Out of thirty-six groups of Jedi that were on other planets when the clones attacked, we have only heard back from thirty-one of these," Windu continued. "Anakin, you are to choose two or three Knights to accompany you to these planets, discover the fates of the missing Jedi, and—if necessary—transport their bodies back to the Temple. Those you take with you will be under your command. As soon as you choose your companions, we need you to leave immediately."

"But what about the trial?" Anakin asked. "Just the traveling time between all those planets might take us a whole week."

"You will be given the fastest transport at the Council's disposal," Windu assured him, "and if you cannot complete your task in time, then you would have no choice but to come back to Coruscant and wait until the trial has ended to finish the mission. Do you have any questions?"

Anakin shook his head and bowed. "No, thank you, Master," he said quietly.

"You are dismissed, then," said Windu. "Come back as soon as you have chosen those who will go with you, and choose quickly."

With another bow, Anakin left the room, walking swiftly. Yoda's voice followed him into the hallway.

"Master Mundi, perhaps postponed your expedition to Utapau should be…"

Anakin's mind a thousand miles away, he didn't see the person in front of him until he had almost walked right into them.

"Oh, I'm sorry—" he apologized quickly, before he saw who it was.

"So, you _were_ in the Council room," Tanith said, an amused little smile at the corners of her lips. "Classified information?"

"Not exactly," Anakin hedged. In case she hadn't noticed the missing ante-lock and braid, Anakin didn't want to draw attention to them. He changed the subject. "Has he woken up yet?"

Tanith nodded. "That's what I came to tell you," she said. "And I found an empty room. I can take you to him, if you want."

"Please."

In a matter of moments, they had reached the med ward. She led him down the hallway and opened the door at the very end. Like every other room in this ward it was entirely of white; around the walls were cupboards and counters, where were stored bandages and bacta and other, lesser known cures. In the corner was a long, high bed on a steel frame, and on this particular bed, staring moodily at the wall, sat the boy.

At Tanith's and Anakin's entrance, he looked up.

"Who're you?" he asked, startled.

"Anakin," was the instant reply. "Who are you?"

Idly kicking his uninjured leg against the side of the bed, the boy answered, "Drin." He nodded toward Tanith, who had her back turned to the both of them as she rummaged through the cupboards. "She said you saved me."

Anakin shrugged, trying to put Drin at ease. It must have been awkward, hearing that a complete stranger had saved your life. "Somebody would have found you eventually," he said. "I just got there first. Mind if I take a look at your leg?"

"Sure, go ahead."

He crossed the room and gingerly began to unwrap the bandage. His eyebrows shot up in surprise as the white cloth fell away—crusted blood still remained, on the bandage and on the skin, but underneath that Drin's leg was whole and unmarred. Anakin looked up at the boy, surprised.

"Did you do that?" he asked. There should have at least been a scar, and bacta did not work so quickly. For the first time Drin allowed himself a smile, if a small one.

"Yeah. I'm a good healer," he explained. "My Master says so, anyway."

"No kidding," Anakin muttered under his breath. He threw the bandage away, wetted a cloth from the sink and started to wash the rust-colored blood from his skin. To be able to heal so well, and especially at Drin's age, was an enormous achievement. Natural healers were rare. He spoke again, his voice its normal tone this time. "Who is your Master?"

Drin was watching Anakin's hands with a faint, detached interest. "Ka'ela Brun. Do you know her?"

Anakin's mind ran swiftly over the list of names still in his head, and breathed a quiet sigh of relief. "No," he said; the knot of apprehension in his stomach disappeared as quickly as it had come. "No, I don't." He finished with Drin's leg and threw the cloth away, as well. "Well, you're all done here. Better go find your Master—she's probably looking for you."

"Thanks." Without another word, Drin hopped off the table and left the room. Anakin watched him go, then turned to Tanith, who had finished with whatever she had been doing.

"He's a good kid," she said, smiling wistfully.

"Kind of hard to tell, though, isn't it?" came out of Anakin's mouth before he could stop it. _Right, that's exactly how a Jedi Knight talks,_ he told himself irritably. But Tanith just laughed. The sound was pleasant and soft, and quiet—everything about her was quiet. Looking at her, Anakin was struck by an idea.

"The Council asked me to find out what happened to the Jedi that didn't answer their signal," he said suddenly, almost blurting out the words. "They wanted me to bring some people with me to help, and I—was wondering if you would come."

As soon as the sentence had left his mouth, Anakin was consumed with doubts. As a Padawan, he had been confident to the point of cockiness—ten years had ensured that. But newly a Knight, all of a sudden everything that he had been sure of now turned to uneasiness. He knew how things were done when you were an apprentice, but how after that?

Tanith's round face was thoughtful. At least she seemed to be considering it—and she appeared pleased.

"All right," she said at last. She was smiling at him.

* * *

Before noon, all choices had been made. Siri—just back from Galantos—he had taken because, although very anxious to prove himself, Anakin still yearned for the guiding hand of someone older and more experienced than he. She had accepted easily, amused rather than annoyed at the prospect of taking orders from him. 

Anakin would have liked to take Ferus, as well, but his friend was not yet a Knight—though he soon would be, when as the Trials took place. So instead, Anakin asked Aelir Thren, a dark, serious person whom Anakin knew vaguely, and not on extremely personal terms. He had been Knighted only last year.

From there, the Council quickly approved his decisions, and urged them to leave as soon as possible. They never actually stated why it was so important that this be done immediately, but Anakin thought he could guess, though the reason was a bit indelicate: should any of the Jedi be dead, as was quite possible, their bodies must be transported quickly, before they began to rot. So it was that, less than eight hours after Anakin had become a Knight of the Jedi Order, he was already on the transport that was to take them on his first mission without a Master to instruct him.

The Council had given them the brief list of planets to visit, ordering outward from the Core: first Kuat, then Aridius, Nar Shaddaa, Kamino, and—Ryloth?

Anakin peered at the screen, as though expecting it to correct itself. That couldn't be right; why would Jedi be on Ryloth? If they had needed help, it would have only made sense to send him and Windu, when they had already been there just a few months before. He sat back in his chair, gazing at the bulkhead of the transport's central room in confusion, turning his gaze onto the datapad, and then back onto the bulkhead. He would have to comm Windu about that.

Until now, he had been alone in the room, but just then the door opened and Tanith walked in. Her light hair, tied back simply to keep it out of her way, seemed to stand out against the colorless lines of steel behind her.

"Where are we going?" she asked, taking a seat at the table across from Anakin.

"Kuat," he answered. He shifted in his chair, and winced as his injured wrist bumped against his leg. An expression of concern flickered across Tanith's face for an instant.

"Let me see your arm," she commanded. Without thinking, Anakin obediently held out his right arm, and she laughed.

"Not that one, silly," she chided him. Sheepishly—_of course, she's a healer, stupid,_ he berated himself—Anakin stretched his bandaged wrist across the table for her inspection. He didn't like being tended to by healers, as a rule: they made him feel uncomfortable, like a rueful child who sat back while an ever-patient mother washed their scrapes. But he sat patiently as Tanith gently peeled layers of cloth from the tender skin, examining it with experienced eyes.

"Has the swelling gone down?" she asked. Anakin tried to remember how it had looked before.

"Um…I think so," he said. Yes, it must have—his wrist was now almost its normal size, although the bruises had not yet faded. Fortunately, this didn't appear to be a mission that would require much sparring.

From a med kit in the metal locker in the corner—it was funny how healers always knew exactly where they were, Anakin thought, almost as if they could smell them—Tanith retrieved the small, standard bacta jar and smeared the healing stuff onto his aching wrist. It stung for a moment, and then quickly faded into a soothing coolness. As she took a clean bandage from the med kit, she looked up at him. "When was the last time you took a shower?"

For Anakin, his mind wandering aimlessly as he sat, this was quite a jerk back to reality. "_What?_" he choked, wondering if he had heard correctly. Tanith tried, unsuccessfully, to bite back a grin at his reaction, and repeated the question. "I don't know—four days ago, maybe." The unvoiced question on the tip of his tongue was "_WHY?_"

She ducked her head, still grinning broadly. "It's your hair," she said at last, neatly tucking in the white corner of the bandage. "Look—" Before Anakin could react, she reached out and rubbed a strand of hair from the back of his head between two fingers. By now he was quite certain that she'd gone mad.

"What are you _doing_?" he asked fervently. Tanith opened her hand.

"Look," she repeated. Lying in her palm were several flakes of dried blood.

Anakin stared down at them. _Oh, yeah..._ His hand went automatically to his head; he could feel the raw skin underneath, only just beginning to heal. Yes, now that he thought of it, two severe blows to the head might just have had something to do with this…

Tanith rubbed a comforting hand on his uninjured arm. "You're worried," she said. "I can tell. Go wash up—you'll feel better."

"I thought I was in charge of this mission," Anakin complained.

"Sorry. I mean, go wash up, Captain."

Mutiny already? Tanith's eyes were twinkling, merrily silent; Anakin, unwilling to fight, consented and left the room.

* * *

Showering was an awkward chore as Anakin did his best to keep his left hand from getting wet, but inevitably failed. It was a good feeling, despite this—for three days, the stench of Palpatine's evil had clung to him, and now Anakin was finally convinced of the fact that it was gone. The hot water did what the Council's words could not; blood mingled with water and was sucked down the drain, and now at last he felt clean. 

Toweling off with his free hand, Anakin went into his room and found a clean set of robes in his suitcase. He changed quickly—another difficult task, but he was growing more adept at using only his right hand—and then wandered back into the central room.

In his absence, Siri and Aelir had joined Tanith in here. Anakin hesitated in the doorway as he saw them all, a wave of doubt washing over him. There was Tanith, the healer; Siri, the mentor, who was tipping her chair back so far that it was in danger of falling over; Aelir, the warrior, sitting in the corner as he stared at the floor, lost in some solemn thought. Where in this perfect triad of Jedi did Anakin fit?

This was not a dangerous mission, and unless they met up with a scattered bunch of renegade clones there would be no combat. He knew perfectly well that this circumstance was entirely different from one in which lives were depending on him—but to Anakin, who had never led anyone but traitorous clones, being appointed leader seemed a sacred trust. He prayed desperately in that instant that he would not fail it.

* * *

**Author's Note: Ok, granted, this chapter wasn't all that exciting, but it's more of a necessary filler than anything. And besides, there'll be a lot more action in the next chapter. (wink wink nudge nudge)**


	17. The Chance For Revenge

**Author's Note: Gah, I'm sorry this chapter took so long. I was consulting with Eruvyweth about this chapter, and that took much longer than it should have. There was a bunch of confusion, things were said, mistakes were made, and the upshot of it all is, here is Chapter 17, I hope it's worth the wait.**

* * *

Kuat being as near to Coruscant as it was, it took them only a few hours to reach it. Anakin consulted the datachip he had been given by the Council and found the last known location of the missing Jedi on this planet. Scrolling through the information, a thought struck him. 

"Does anybody know what happened to the clones?" he asked, to no one in particular. All three people looked up at him, jerked from their respective thoughts. Anakin felt the need to elaborate. "I mean, everyone knows they're traitors now. Where can they go?"

Siri's head tilted to the side, a sign that she was interested. "I hadn't thought of that," she admitted. "I suppose—well, if they were a regular army, they'd probably split up, become bounty hunters or something. But our clones don't have the mentality to fend for themselves. All they know is organized battle. My guess would be that they'll all just wander off somewhere and die eventually."

Tanith looked as though she disagreed. "Couldn't they come back to the Republic?" she asked. "I mean, you said that it was a pre-birth command," she said, nodding toward Anakin. He had explained to his crew the circumstances of Palpatine's death and the attack of the clones, downplaying his role in the bizarre drama as much as a possible. "So if it's failed, then it seems as though they'd be safe for us again."

"But we don't know what else he put in there," Anakin pointed out, "and we've got no way of finding out. For all we know, he told them all to shoot the person closest to them exactly six months after he died."

"Unlikely, but possible," Siri conceded amusedly. For the first time, Aelir spoke up, drawn in spite of himself into the conversation.

"And the command was never canceled, as far as we know," he said. "So it appears likely that we'll be seeing attacks on random Jedi from now on, whenever a leftover clone and a Jedi happen to be in the same place."

This was something that none of the others had considered yet—it had been universally and automatically assumed that the clones' savage act had been an isolated incident.

"I think Siri's right," Aelir concluded. "Being let loose will just bewilder them; they'll die soon enough."

Anakin shrugged. "They've still got Grievous, though," he reminded the assembled. "What if he decides to reorganize them?"

"He couldn't," Siri said dismissively. "He would have taken his orders from Palpatine; he certainly wasn't behind all that we thought he was. He's not particularly ingenious on his own."

"Well, the Council thinks so, anyway," Anakin said. "They've decided to ignore Grievous on Utapau while they clean up the mess on Coruscant…wait, where did Tanith go?" As soon as the words had been uttered, the healer reentered the room which she had mysteriously exited at some point during the conversation.

"We've just been given clearance to land," Tanith told them, standing in the doorway. "It's almost night on this side of the planet, so we should hurry, before it gets any darker."

"How did you know that?" Anakin asked. Tanith gave him a look.

"Well, I _am_ Force-sensitive."

The ship began its slow descent downward into the atmosphere of Kuat, and Anakin was reminded strongly of the maxim beginning, _Ask a stupid question…_

As they landed in one of the public docking stations, they were able to see that Tanith had been correct; all that remained of the Core sun's light were the faintest streaks of glowing gold across the horizon, swiftly giving way to the harsher artificial lights that illuminated the streets. Kuat was very much like Coruscant in almost all ways, but to a lesser degree. It was not yet quite so crowded, so it was separated into cities rather than combined into one—nor so decadent, so buildings were not as tall as when the wealthy sought to physically separate themselves from the corruption below. In fact, Anakin considered, one could have said it was Coruscant, but better.

They landed on one of the many public docking bays, elevated over the rest of the city, and the four Jedi filed out. Anakin took in a deep breath, looking out over the many lights of the city of Orent. It was so, so big…

"We should talk to someone who knew they were here," he decided, thinking out loud. "The person who asked for Jedi help, so probably somebody in charge. Does Orent have a mayor?"

"Well, if it did," Aelir said, "they'd probably be in that. During daylight, at least." He indicated a large building below them, far more intricately built than the structures that surrounded it and made of some dull, onyx-like metal. There was a wide staircase leading up to its large doors, over which something was written in Basic, but they were too far away to see what it was.

"All right," Anakin decided. "We'll try that." He started walking, and his three companions followed. They took a lift down to the surface, then quickly made their way through the dim, fast-clearing streets. There were only a few sentients left here—peddlers packing up for the evening, a couple young people who had obviously had too much to drink, mothers calling their reluctant children inside. Walking quickly, they reached what looked to be the town hall in a very short amount of time.

The doors were not yet closed, at least, opening onto a wide floor of black tile flecked with gold. But there didn't seem to be anyone around. The four Jedi stood in the center of the room, looking about perplexedly.

"We should come back tomorrow," Siri suggested. "Spend the night in the ship."

"No, we've got to do this quickly," Anakin said firmly. "Wait—there—" He had spotted a sign on the wall, bearing the symbol of an arrow and claming to lead them in the direction of the mayor's office. "Here we go. If we hurry, we could leave tonight."

They started walking again, their footsteps echoing loudly on the polished floor as they bounced off the walls into the silence. Fortunately, the mayor's office was very close and clearly marked, with a bronze plaque beside the door reading, "Mayor Lavin Sespius". Anakin knocked, and at first there was no sound from inside. Then a harried, muffled voice answered sharply, "Yes, who is it?"

He stepped inside. This room was as lavishly decorated as the rest of the building in which it rested, its only furniture a sleek wooden desk and chair sitting on plush green carpet. The atmosphere was one of simplicity and peace; the man standing behind the desk, however, seemed oddly out of place. He was thin and balding, feverishly shoving flimsies and assorted junk from the desk surface into a leather case. So intent was he on this task that he didn't even bother to look up at Anakin as he muttered, "What d'ya want? Do you _know_ what time it is?"

"Sir," Anakin began, a bit unnerved by the abrupt greeting, "My name is Anakin Skywalker—I'm here on behalf of the Jedi Council. You asked for help from them about a month ago, didn't you?"

The man's head shot up, and he eyed Anakin warily. "Yes, but they've already come," he grunted finally. "Don't need you."

The nervousness was quickly replaced with a growing irritation. Taking care to hide his annoyance, however, Anakin continued. "I'm not here to help you, sir," he said. "We've lost track of the Jedi that were sent here earlier, and we were wondering if you could help us find them. Do you know where they might have gone?"

At last, the mayor's hands stopped moving. He raised his eyes to the ceiling, sucking his teeth loudly as he thought. The sound grated on Anakin's already fraying nerves.

"The woman and the boy?" the man inquired finally. Anakin nodded. "They found some speeder bikes, went to check out an old fort a couple miles south from here." He considered for a moment. "Took…maybe a dozen clones with 'em."

"Thank you."

The office was spacious for a room of its sort, but not so large that you could fit four Jedi into it without looking as though you were trying to intimidate someone. Siri, Aelir and Tanith, sensing this, were waiting in the hall when Anakin stepped out. The door closed behind him with a quiet sucking noise.

"Well?" asked Siri. Anakin hesitated, taking a breath.

"He said they went to look at an old military building to the south. It shouldn't take long—we can look for them there." What he did not say was, _But I already know what we'll find.

* * *

_

It took hardly thirty minutes for them to find the fort in the dark. Siri, the most experienced in the ways of the Force, soon discovered one of the speeder bikes the mayor had mentioned. Or rather, what was left of it: the metal had been twisted with heat and was riddled with bolt holes, and the front end was smashed to bits. Tanith was the one who found its rider, who was in little better state than his vehicle. Of his Master or her speeder, there was no sign.

Tanith was visibly shaken—Anakin gingerly took the body from her trembling arms, wondering if she would be able to cope with the rest of this mission. _How old was he?_ Anakin wondered as he looked down at the boy's pale face. Twelve? Thirteen?—certainly not older than fourteen. His eyes were wide, and though his features had relaxed in death, the faintest expression of fear still remained on them. Had they seen what was coming before it had happened, or were they taken completely by surprise? It didn't take much imagination for Anakin to believe that those eyes were staring at _him_—he closed them gently with two fingers, then looked up.

"The clones could still be around here," Aelir said quietly. "We should go now, quickly."

Anakin nodded his agreement, and with a single flash-lamp to guide them, the four Jedi carefully picked their way through the darkness. Their journey was slower this time, partly because they were now hampered by the weight of Anakin's newly-acquired burden, and also because hurrying felt like impatience, and impatience in the presence of such a grievous tragedy felt like a desecration. Thus, it was more than an hour before they reached the ship.

As theirs was not a cargo ship, the hold was small, but still quite sufficient to hold what it must. Together, Aelir and Anakin unfolded one of the long, black bags that were made for times such as these and closed the boy inside, then laid him in the hold. No words were spoken between them the entire time.

Somebody gave the ship's computer its coordinates and calculated a jump to hyperspace while they were so occupied—the ship took off, and the four Jedi could be found sitting around the table in the central room, just as before. But all gaiety had gone, and somehow no conversation was could be made. It was impossible to think of anything but that long, black bag sitting in the hold. After a few hours of this, they split up and went to their respective rooms. But none of them got much sleep that night.

* * *

Visits to the other planets were made just as quickly, although they did have to stay around for a couple extra hours on Kamino to explain to the Prime Minister exactly why no more clones could be made in the Republic's name. But at last they were on their way again: _four down, one to go,_ was the general consensus, although no one said it out loud, and Anakin still had five days before he had to be back on Coruscant. Ryloth was fantastically close to the cloning planet, and by Anakin's calculations they would arrive there at some point during the night.

By the next morning, the ship had already landed somewhere on Ryloth. Anakin was the first one awake; something was nagging at the back of his mind. It wasn't a warning, exactly—it was more as if the Force were prodding him in the ribs. _Look up, pay attention, be aware…_ So, with nothing else to do—by Coruscant time it was just barely dawn—Anakin decided to leave the ship and take a look around.

No sooner had he walked down the ramp than he was suddenly struck by two realization: the first was that this was the same field in which he and Windu had landed, the last time he had been on Ryloth. The second was a bit more ominous: floating over the treetops, in the direction of Ere's hometown, was heavy, black smoke, so thick in the air that Anakin's throat burned. The Force prodding had changed now—it prickled dangerously at his senses, making sure he understood that whatever now lay beyond those trees, it was nothing good.

Morbid curiosity almost got the best of Anakin as he wondered whether to wake his companions or not. At last, he decided to take what appeared to be the more prudent course of action, and quickly roused them. He was too upset to be very kind about it—Siri, Aelir, and Tanith only felt a hand on their shoulder, roughly shaking them awake, before Anakin had moved on to the next person. Within only a few moments, they had all assembled in the central room.

"Anakin, what's going on?" Siri demanded, her voice none too sweet. She was not a morning person.

"You don't feel that?" Anakin asked her. About to answer, Siri hesitated as he tentatively poked about with the Force. It wasn't long.

"What—?"

"There's smoke coming from one of the towns nearby," Anakin said tersely, answering her question before she asked it. "We need to check it out, now."

By now Tanith and Aelir had felt it as well—a dark, ragged blotch in the Force that was certainly not supposed to be there. In seconds, all four of them were ready and on their way toward the source of Anakin's worry.

He was not worrying in vain. No sooner had they stepped beyond the thick ring of trees than a horrendous sight met their eyes. Buildings lay in ruin, their gray stone blackened by small, still-burning flames that licked at their sides and fires that raged still within them, reducing to ashes all that had lain inside. Rubble littered the street, crunching underfoot as the Jedi advanced, stunned. Anakin was the one who voiced what they all were thinking.

"What the _krif_ happened?" he asked.

"Clones can't have done all this," Aelir murmured bewilderedly. "It's Jedi they're after, not civilians. And to completely raze the place—"

"Look," said Tanith quietly. The gazes of the other three followed her pointing finger, and saw, lying in the wreckage of the nearest house, a Twi'lek corpse.

Anakin shut his eyes tightly. _Force, I can't take any more death,_ he thought wearily. If he had been speaking, the words would have come out as a whimper. For what seemed an eternity, the four Jedi stood where they were, looking out over the destruction before them. At last, Anakin opened his eyes again, somehow fortified.

"Spread out," he ordered automatically. "Look for survivors, and see if you can find any hint as to who did this. Aelir's right—it couldn't have been clones."

It did not occur to him to marvel that they obeyed him without a word. Their original mission forgotten, the four Jedi walked away in separate directions, desperately searching for answers. Within minutes they had gone their respective ways, until each had disappeared from the others' sights. Anakin, for his part, went north, directly into the heart of the town. By the time he had left this place last time, he had been able to find his way around fairly well, but the lack of buildings completely disoriented him, and now he had no idea where he was.

The further in he went, the more bodies littered the ground, left where they had fallen. Anakin knelt by one, a young woman with light green skin, and examined her wounds without touching her. Not just blasters, then: this one had been stabbed. But who could conceivably have a motive for destroying an entire city—and not simply its people, but smashing its buildings in and burning them, inasmuch as it was possible, to the ground? He stood again, wishing desperately for a drink of water; smoke was so abundant in the air that his throat ached every time he took a breath.

He was vaguely aware that he should, in all probability, be feeling much more pain than this at the thought of so many senseless deaths. But as Anakin wandered aimlessly through the ruins, he could not muster any more sadness than he would have been able to had he been told that someone he did not know, millions of miles away, had died. And as he became aware of it, he wondered at it. Once—it seemed centuries ago—he had been so acutely aware of every suffering and every death around him that he could not go anywhere near a place like this. When had that changed?

_To feel sadness in death is to be human,_ Obi-Wan had once told him comfortingly. _No matter what the Masters say, there is no shame in that._

But that opened up a whole new train of thought, one that Anakin had no desire to follow to its conclusion. He pushed it from his mind and continued on his dreary way, kicking at misshapen chunks of stone in his path. All of a sudden, his task seemed completely useless; anyone looking at this place with half an eye could see that nothing living could have survived the scourge. Even plants shriveled and died as the little flames swallowed them up, and then, still unsatisfied, continued on its destructive pathway.

There was no danger from this quarter, however; the only major fires were the ones inside the wall-less buildings, and these were limited to the furniture and bodies of those indoors. The house nearest Anakin, at least, had yet to succumb to this fate; its fire had died early, but its walls had been smashed down to the foundations, baring its interior to the world. It was awful to see a plain wooden chair standing in the middle of what had once been the living room, yet untouched by the horror around it. Anakin almost laughed out loud when he saw it—that wild, hysterical laughter that was not really laughter at all—but he swallowed it, and with a forced calm walked into the center of the "room". He almost wanted to save the chair and take it with him, for reasons unknown even to himself, as if to say, "This was the sole survivor of the massacre on Ryloth!"

Anakin shook his head abruptly—these were not safe thoughts, nor even entirely sane ones. He groped for the numbness he had felt before, wanting to retreat back into its unfeeling safety. _There is no passion; there is serenity._ Just thinking it made him feel a bit better. In a situation so terrible and new, it was old and familiar, and Anakin clung to it. _There is no emotion; there is peace._ His fear was ebbing, and though the smoke still hung thickly in the air, Anakin could breathe a little better.

And then, looking down, he saw a little white hand poking out of the pile of debris that covered this ground.

Breathless, Anakin dropped to his knees, praying that white skin was not such an anomaly as he had first thought. Hastily he shoved the rubble aside, careless of the angry red scratches the action left on his hands. _They couldn't, they couldn't have_— But even before the last fragments of rock had been cleared away, Anakin already knew what he would see.

Aiin's wide, dark eyes were blank—that was what struck him the hardest. Where before they had sparkled with excitement and life, the light behind them had been killed. Tears that Anakin hadn't thought himself capable of shedding before now ran swiftly down his cheeks. _She was only a child,_ he thought dully. _She never did anything wrong, she was just a child…_

At last, he struggled to his feet, the tears still wet on his face. He had to take her back, was the only thought in his mind. No, she wasn't a Jedi, but he couldn't leave her, not in a place like this. But even as the thought passed through his mind, he felt a prickling at the nape of his neck, as though someone were watching him. Almost without thinking, Anakin dropped instantly to one knee, and just barely felt a cold rush of air as something flew over his head. He looked up swiftly, to see a vibro-shiv slide to a stop on the ground before him.

_Get close to your opponent,_ his brain recited automatically. Daggers and vibro-shivs were easier to counter when they weren't being hurled at you from a distance. Instantly Anakin jumped to his feet and whirled—before whoever had thrown the weapon could repeat their action, a powerful wave of the Force sent them, sprawling, to the ground.

He was only ten yards from where Anakin had stood, and yet the Jedi had not sensed him coming. Chagrined, Anakin raced forward, determined to find out who would still be hanging around in such a place, but the man was quicker than that. Rather than lie on his back and wait, he leapt up immediately and pulled another vibro-shiv from his belt. And just when Anakin reached him, he recognized that face, which until now he had seen only in holo-vids and stills.

It was the face of Karan Toi.

Anakin's shock cost him a precious second, and Toi was not one to waste time. He lashed out at Anakin, and the Jedi only just managed to block Toi's right arm with his left. Too late Anakin remembered that his left arm was not entirely healed. He only had to hold it for a few seconds, but even those few seconds were too much—his arm fell, trembling with pain, and the vibro-shiv sliced a long gash into the right side of his face. Even as he cried out, Anakin kicked out as hard as he could, and Toi, who had not been expecting such a blow after landing his own, was taken completely unawares. For the second time in less than a minute he landed on his back. The vibro-shiv fell from his hands, much too far away for him to grab it from where he laid, and Anakin, finally remembering his lightsaber, had the blade under Toi's chin in moments.

There was silence for a time. Anakin was panting for breath, and there was a strange taste in his mouth—blood, he realized, dripping from the cut on his face. He spat it onto the ground.

"What are you doing here?" he demanded hoarsely. Toi was insolently silent, looking up at his assailant with an infuriating expression of amused boredom on his face. Anakin would have liked to close his eyes, as the action always helped him concentrate, but at the moment he could not think of anything stupider. Keeping his gaze steadily on Toi's face, Anakin pathed an urgent message to Siri. Within only a few minutes, he felt her presence behind him. In all that time he did not speak to Toi again, sensing the futility of his words.

"Is this one of the ones that did it?" Siri asked breathlessly, running up to him. "I—oh!"

She had recognized his face as well.

"I need you to tie him up," Anakin said shortly. "Do you have laser cuffs or anything like that on you?"

Siri groaned as she searched through her utility belt. "Nothing," she admitted. "No, wait—" From a loop in her belt she pulled a standard cable launcher. "We can use the cord." She shot the cable launcher at the ground, then cut out a large section with her lightsaber, of at least three feet. With Anakin still holding Toi at bay, she knelt quickly and tied his hands before him. He complied without protest.

"I'll take him back to the ship," Anakin said. "You find the others, tell them what's happened, and meet me there."

Siri nodded and left. Anakin looked down at his prisoner. "Get up," he commanded, disgust in his voice. Without a word, Toi did so, all the while with that same patronizing look on his face, as though Anakin were playing a little game with himself and Toi were humoring him. "Move," was the next abrupt order, and Toi obeyed that as well, Anakin directing him where to go.

They reached the ship in short order, and not once had Toi struggled or tried to run. He was shrewder than most in realizing that, if he did try to make a fool-hardy break for it, his captor would have no qualms about striking him down. As soon as they got on board, Anakin found a pair of laser cuffs and replaced Toi's temporary bonds with them. A preemptory search found no weapons on him, and, at last satisfied, Anakin locked him in one of the extra bedrooms.

When he returned to the central room, the rest of the Jedi had already gathered there. Sitting around the table, all three looked up anxiously as he entered.

"He's secure for now," Anakin said by way of assurance.

"Did he say what he was doing here?" asked Siri directly, but Anakin shook his head as he sat beside her.

"No—actually, he didn't say anything at all."

"There were no survivors," Aelir put in, "and we didn't find any Jedi. At least, not by the time we were called back here."

"It doesn't matter," Anakin said dismissively. "We won't find them, not in this mess."

"Do you think he did it?" Tanith asked. "Killed all those people, and everything?"

Anakin swallowed. "I don't know," he answered softly. "I know he's capable of it."

Siri, who until now had been looking directly at him, dropped her eyes uncomfortably to the ground at these words, as though unwilling to meet his gaze any longer.

"We could mind-trick him, I suppose," Aelir said, but there was doubt in his voice. Even as he spoke, Siri shook his head.

"He's not Force-sensitive, but he still knows how to combat that," she said. "It wouldn't be the first time they'd tried to get a Jedi to interrogate him."

"Well, one of us should try, anyway," said Tanith, looking around the table for support. "I mean, there's no harm in that, and we've _got_ to know."

"I'll do it," Anakin said suddenly. He saw Siri's mouth open in protest, but left the table before she could speak. Whether she thought it wise or not, he would open the wound one last time.

* * *

Karan Toi's thoughts, as he sat in his makeshift cell, wavered between vexation and serenity. On the one hand, he had underestimated his opponent's strength, something that lost other men many a battle—and then there was always the fact that his captor had been nothing more than a boy, which was downright humiliating. But then, of course, there was the other hand, which more than made up for its predecessor: there had been a few setbacks, to be sure, but this would hardly be his first time in prison, and escape got easier every time. Yes, one always had to look on the bright side of things.

Sitting on the bed, Karan leaned back against the wall and closed his eyes in an attempt to sleep. No sooner had he dozed off, however, than the sound of the door opening interrupted his rest. He opened an eye, to see the boy standing in the entrance way.

"Do you mind?" he asked sharply. "I'm trying to sleep."

Half of him really did want the kid just to leave so he could bide his time in captivity as he chose, but the other half, which never stopped being practical, was appraising the boy. Tall—and still growing, no doubt—with blue eyes and dark blond hair that reached almost to his shoulders. (The cut on the side of his face was still open, Karan saw with some satisfaction.) The seriousness of his expression belied his youth, but he still looked more the part of naïve adolescent than stern, solemn Jedi. No braid, Karan noted, but still young—so he was no longer a student, but only just into Knighthood. Luck had been with him; he had managed to capture one of the most wanted men in the galaxy, and now he wanted to prove himself by being the first man alive to crack into the mind of Karan Toi.

"I want to talk to you," said the boy. He had a low voice, one that matched the seriousness of his face. "I need to ask you a question."

Karan sighed. "Look, kid," he said, "you're wasting your time. I'll tell you all I'll tell anyone else, right now: my men and I got a commission from a rich guy who wants to be even richer, to take that Twi'lek place as far to the ground as it'd go. There's a spice mine right underneath the town, and he wanted it no matter how much it cost. No, I won't tell you his name, and no, I won't tell you where my men are."

"Don't patronize me!" the boy snapped. His cheeks flushed angrily. "If that's your story, then keep it that way. It makes no difference to me. The fact that all of those people are dead is enough to condemn you. That's not what I have to ask you."

Karan was vaguely curious, but not enough to lean forward. The kid waved a hand, and a chair moved from the other side of the room to just a foot from the bed. The Jedi sat down, facing his prisoner fearlessly. _Reckless,_ thought Karan disapprovingly. _Too reckless, boy._ It was either a false sense of invincibility that allowed the boy to move so close to the universe's most feared assassin, or else he just didn't understand with whom he was dealing. That, Karan admitted to himself, or the kid was very, very brave.

"About four months ago," the boy began, "you were on Tatooine, just after escaping from Galactic Prison, right?"

Karan nodded, but he was wary. He made it a rule to never answer more questions than he felt were necessary, but he couldn't see where this was leading.

"Did you know that the Senate had four Jedi on that planet as well, searching for you?"

He pursed his lips, in and out. It was a habit he had developed from several years of death sticks, even though he wasn't smoking one at the moment. He sure would liked one, though…

"I knew something was up," Karan conceded. "Didn't know there were four of you."

"You captured one, though," the boy said, very swiftly. Yes, this was his question. His eyes never wavered from Karan's as he spoke. "One of the Jedi. Do you remember him?"

Karan sat back, eying the boy with annoyance. "You ask too many questions, kid. That's going to get you in trouble some day."

"Answer me."

Silence. The kid's eyes had hardened. This was no game he was playing. A drop of blood trembled on his eyelash, but he didn't appear to even notice.

"Answer me, and don't lie. I'll know if you're lying, and I'll kill you for it."

Karan snorted. "You think you're the first person that's ever made that threat?"

"No, but I'll be the first to carry it out."

In and out, in and out. Krif, he really wanted a death stick right about now… He didn't like that kid's eyes—how could he have thought they were blue? They were cold, slate gray, and they never seemed to blink…

"I remember him."

"Describe him, so I know you're telling the truth."

"Reddish hair, medium height, had a beard, eyes like—like yours—"

He saw the boy swallow, take a breath that just barely trembled, but that awful gaze of his never wavered. "You killed him, didn't you?"

"Yes."

"What did you do with his body?"

Damn those eyes, Karan thought furiously, he wanted to tear them out. Jedi Masters of the highest order had been unable to make him speak, forced solitude and imprisonment had done nothing to his will, but this boy, a mere child, inspired in him what no one else could, and that, strange emotion though it was to him, was fear. It did not occur to him to doubt the boy's promise of death, and he did not want to die by his hand.

"We threw it into the desert—left it for the scavengers."

There, and that was the truth.

The boy's eyelids closed slowly, and the single crimson drop fell from his lash—it looked for all the world like a tear of blood. His fingernails were digging into the skin of his hand. At long last he opened his eyes—they were blue again, Karan noted wearily, warm blue—and his hand as well, revealing four thin, crescent-shaped bruises. Without another word he left the room, locking it securely behind him.

Karan Toi leaned his head against the wall and shut his eyes, trying to get some sleep. All of a sudden, he was so very tired…


	18. A Brush With Politics

The trip back home was incredibly uncomfortable. Everyone did their best to speak of mundane things, all the while ignoring the enormous bantha in the room—or rather, in the hold. Everyone, that was, except for Anakin, who spoke of nothing at all. Siri was the one who had to explain to Aelir and Tanith exactly what was wrong with him. In fact, the only time Anakin spoke during the entire trip was to give short consent to Tanith when she timidly offered to heal the cut on his face. When at last it came, the arrival on Coruscant was a great relief to everyone onboard the transport.

In the past, dutifully upholding the principle that the Senate could never completely agree on anything, a few senators had campaigned for the rehabilitation of Karan Toi, rather than execution. But even these misguided do-gooders could not ignore the fact that, as opposed to some isolated individuals, this time Karan Toi and his men had slaughtered an entire city in cold blood. There was a trial, but it was more a formality than anything else, and Siri gave testimony to the Ryloth massacre, as nothing in the galaxy could have induced Anakin to stand in the same room as his Master's killer. That precaution was as much for Toi's safety as it was for Anakin's sanity—Anakin avoided the temptation of Sith-like revenge by removing himself from the object of temptation altogether.

Hardly two days after they had landed back on Coruscant—many considered this a new record, as the Senate had never in known history reached a decision so quickly—Karan Toi was injected with a swift, yet supposedly painless, poison, and died within minutes. This fact was broadcast over the holo-news, and Anakin, watching, did not take the satisfaction in it that he had imagined he would.

He had no desire to speculate on why this was—whatever conclusion he reached in the end, Anakin decided, could hardly be good news—so he turned his attention instead to the small screen of his datapad, on which he was occasionally able to pick up holo-channels, if the weather was good that day. It had turned from the grim footage of Toi's body being wheeled from the execution room to Senator Amidala, standing in the center of the Senate Chamber and making a speech. Subtitles ran across the bottom of the screen, in Basic, Rodian, and Iklang.

"As you know, my esteemed colleagues," she said, not mincing words, as Anakin watched, "Less than two weeks ago, the Supreme Chancellor Palpatine was killed."

There was a hush over the Chamber, and several heads bowed. While many had disagreed with Palpatine while he was alive, in death all were his friends and compatriots.

"The Republic is in desperate need of a new leader," Amidala pointed out. "Ours is a firm society, with a solid foundation, but without someone to guide it, its roots will grow shallow and _it_ _will fall_. I move that a new Supreme Chancellor be elected, and soon."

To the loud murmur of approval that greeted these words, she only raised her hands, asking for silence. It was granted, and the senator continued. "I spent several years working by the Chancellor's side," she said, in a softer voice. "In all those years, he showed me exactly what qualities a person of his position should possess, simply by acting them out in his daily life: the honesty that is required in a fair and just leader; the reliability to stand by his people no matter what; the courage to do what must be done, no matter the obstacles; the kindness to show mercy when mercy seems weak; the strength to hold the universe on his shoulders, and above all, wisdom unequaled."

Amidala lowered her eyes humbly. "Even as I simply spoke with him each day, having the most ordinary of conversations," she said, "he could not help but impart these qualities to me. They overflowed from him, spilling out onto all who were close to him." Suddenly her voice was raised again, and she lifted her arms in a supplicant's gesture. "I pray wholeheartedly that it is these qualities the Senate will look for in choosing their next leader from its own ranks! And I beg them to remember Chancellor Palpatine's great deeds for this Republic, and find another who can do the same!"

The audience—for that was what the Senate had become—erupted as applause drowned out every other sound. Anakin was gaping at the screen in a mixture of awe and disbelief; in one short speech, she had managed to make Anakin himself look like a fool—worse, a murderer—_and _put herself in a prime position for being elected as next Supreme Chancellor. Once quite confident, now Anakin was beginning to feel the first stirrings of uneasiness concerning the trial that was to take place tomorrow.

As if on cue, there was a knock at Anakin's door just then. He distractedly motioned with two fingers, and the door slid open, allowing Master Windu to step inside. Immediately he saw what Anakin was watching.

"Worried?" he asked. His former apprentice grimaced.

"A little," he admitted. "She's not going to let me go easily."

"True," Windu said, sitting on the sofa beside Anakin. "However, I brought something that I think should turn the tide in your favor." From underneath his cloak, he pulled a black, cylindrical object. Anakin recognized it instantly.

"How did you get that?" he asked incredulously. Windu placed the lightsaber on the bed between them. Its design was simple almost to the point of rudimentary, but etched deeply into the dark metal were intricate designs that covered almost every inch of it, and carved around the very end of the hilt were what had to be letters, though nothing Anakin could read.

"I went back and retrieved it from Palpatine's study while you were busy with the count," Windu answered. "I thought it might be useful." His finger brushed against the writing at the lightsaber's base. "Jocasta Nu says this is an ancient Sith language, but she doesn't know what it says. She's working on translating it now, and quite enjoying herself."

Anakin felt shocked. "Do you—you think that's wise, Master?" he asked. "Obi-Wan told me once that Sith words have power in themselves."

"It could be dangerous," conceded Windu. "But think of it, Anakin—this is the first real link to the Sith that we've had in a long, long while, and whatever we can learn about them will certainly prove useful. Once we have no further use for it, we will make sure to store it where it is not easily accessible to anyone but a Council member."

Anakin nodded, satisfied but still perturbed. He didn't like this thing in his room—it reeked of an evil that was almost palpable. Windu, sensing his uneasiness, tucked it back under his cloak.

"I want you to take it to the trial tomorrow," he said. "I'd rather that the entire galaxy didn't have to know that we're in possession of a powerful Sith artifact, but I think in this case it's necessary. There are people—Granta Omega, for instance—who would do whatever it took to get their hands on such an object."

The less Anakin had to do with that lightsaber the better, was his staunch opinion, and he opened his mouth to protest Windu's suggestion. No sooner had he done so, however, than he remembered Senator Amidala's daunting words and thought better of it. Reluctantly, he acquiesced.

Windu left, and Anakin flopped onto his back on the sofa. A long breath escaped him as he stared up at the ceiling. A morbid sense of curiosity eked its way into his brain, and for the longest time, all he could think about were those Sith words, scored deeply into the metal. He would have to remember to ask Jocasta Nu, sometime, if she ever discovered what they meant…

* * *

If asked, Anakin would have liked to say that he slept calmly the night before his trial, confident that the truth would set him free. This, however, would have been lying; while Anakin did not toss and turn the whole night through, it seemed like hours before he finally managed to close his eyes in slumber, and when he awoke, he could have sworn that he had not slept for a second.

It was necessary for him to be at the Senate an hour before dawn, so it was still dark when Anakin arrived at the impressive building. But that fact did not hinder the dozens of news crews that had parked themselves around the various public entryways, waiting for someone of importance to come by. Anakin was exactly what they were looking for, and no sooner had he landed the speeder than it was surrounded. Resisting the powerful temptation to shove a pathway through the mass of bodies with the Force, Anakin resigned himself to pushing his way to the door, keeping his mouth shut in answer to the shouted questions of, "What is your basis for your accusation of Chancellor Palpatine?" and "Are you aware that Senator Amidala herself is prosecuting your case?"

When at last he was inside, the sudden quiet was a welcome change. Anakin looked around him, at the high, vaulted ceilings and beautifully tiled floors, and felt a bit intimidated. The Temple was as fine as this, if not more so, but he was quite used to those surroundings. He was standing in a long hallway, empty but for himself, and it suddenly occurred to Anakin that he had no idea where to go. He had a sudden, childish wish that Windu could have come with him and told him what to do, but his former Master had to arrive with the rest of the Council, and so Anakin was on his own. With not the slightest idea of where he was going, he started walking.

The further into the building he got, the more people he passed, secretaries and messengers of all species. The atmosphere was harried and frantic as people rushed to their respective destinations, and it was all Anakin could do to get past them as they walked purposefully by, until he felt a tap on his shoulder and turned around.

"Master Skywalker?" inquired a tall young woman. Her features were stern and pale, and her hair, interestingly enough, was a deep shade of purple, though whether these chromatic traits were through genetics or human intervention Anakin couldn't tell. He nodded, and a satisfied smile was allowed to cross her face for a moment. "I've been looking for you," she said. "Please follow me. They're waiting for you."

_Krif,_ was Anakin's immediate thought as he began to follow her through the thinning crowd. The last thing he needed was to be late for something as important as this. The woman led him swiftly through the hallways, and just when it seemed they could go no further, she opened a door to her right.

"Through there," she said, pointing. Anakin looked, and saw a large hover-dais sitting in the center of the room, not unlike the ones he had seen the senators use. "That will take you up to the Senate Chamber." And without another word, she walked off down the hallway, leaving Anakin alone.

Not wanting to be later than he presumably already was, Anakin quickly walked over to the hover-dais and entered it. Sensing his presence, the dais immediately and slowly began to rise into the air. For an instant, Anakin was almost afraid that he would be smashed against the ceiling; then the pattern in the metal began to move, creating an opening through which Anakin rose into the enormous Senate Chamber. He didn't know where to turn—every way he looked there were countless eyes fixed coolly upon him, condemning him before he spoke a word. The number of hover-daises seemed endless, reaching to the ceiling which could barely be seen, and to the ground, which was swiftly growing further and further away. Anakin felt very small indeed.

When finally his own dais ceased movement, it was in the center of the room and, of course, level with Senator Amidala's. She was dressed in a simply-cut gown of white and deep blue, and her hair was pulled back in a severe bun. Had she not been trying to get him killed, Anakin grudgingly admitted to himself, he might have thought her attractive.

"Anakin Skywalker," Amidala said loudly, her voice carried technologically throughout the entirety of the enormous room, "You are charged before the Galactic Senate with the murder of Supreme Chancellor Palpatine. How do you plead?"

Anakin tried to answer, but nothing came out. He cleared his throat awkwardly and tried again. "Not guilty, Senator," he managed finally. His voice echoed through the Chamber, and Anakin flinched, startled. Out of the corner of his eye, he caught sight of the hover-dais in which the Council sat. Windu, towards the front, gave him a small but encouraging smile as their eyes met. It was not the smile, however, but simply the knowledge that Windu was there that made Anakin feel a bit less nervous.

"You understand the charges that are being made against you, and you understand the penalties that you incur if you fail to plead your case convincingly?"

"Yes, Senator," Anakin replied, and his voice was pleasingly stronger this time. Amidala gave him a cursory nod.

"Very well. Proceed with your statement, Master Skywalker."

Anakin took a breath. "Senator, I did not murder Chancellor Palpatine," he said staunchly. "I killed him, it's true, but the two mean different things. I only managed to kill him after a battle of several minutes, in defense of my own life and in protection of every Jedi that lives today."

He saw Amidala's eyebrows twitch. He had either piqued her curiosity or her anger, but whatever the emotion that the senator felt, she restrained it quickly and continued with the pre-assigned protocol.

"Please recount for the Senate, in your own words, the events on the night in question that led up to the Chancellor's death," she said coolly.

Anakin did so, relating everything that had happened on that fateful day, including the Council's decision to watch the Chancellor more closely, even the parts that he was not proud of. He did, however, leave out the vision, for that would have lengthened this dull business even further.

Hearing the words that issued from his mouth, Anakin knew that the story sounded ridiculous; had anyone told him the same story, he would have laughed in their face, wondering how they could have been so naïve as to believe the impossible. But he knew, as no one else did, that powerful, caressing seduction which Palpatine had offered him, the words that had been spoken that were laced with charm as though it were a drug.

When he finished, Amidala's face was stony. She did not like hearing these slanderous comments made against her idol, Anakin could see at a glance.

"Master Skywalker," she began, her voice cold—she was ready to take him to task—"You contend that the Chancellor told you that he distrusted the Jedi Council—that they intended to overthrow him." The unspoken accusation in her voice was clear, and Anakin could hardly blame her. It certainly didn't look good, as the Jedi _had_, in effect, overthrown him. "Did he offer any reasons for this wariness?"

Anakin shook his head. "Only that he believed that they intended to betray him," he said. "He did his best to shake my faith in the Jedi Order, by telling me that the Jedi and Sith were hardly dissimilar. He also told me a story of the Sith to prove his point."

"And yet he never admitted outright that he was a Sith Lord," Amidala was quick to point out. Annoyed, a muscle twitched in Anakin's cheek.

"I hope I can safely assume that you are not a Sith, Senator," he said, throwing caution to the winds. "So how many Sith legends do _you_ know?"

In the stunned silence that followed—Amidala's cheeks had gone pink—Anakin added, "Not even the Jedi know these things, Senator, so how would he?"

"I assume you have heard the maxim, 'Know your enemy', Master Skywalker," Amidala shot back, sufficiently recovered. "Who are you to say that this did not apply to the Chancellor?"

"The Sith were no more his enemy than they were ours," Anakin pointed out. "And the Jedi would do all they could to keep from learning such dangerous things."

"But the Chancellor was in no such danger, as he was not Force-sensitive," Amidala said swiftly. "Perhaps it was wisdom, rather than weakness, that led him to study such things."

"But if Chancellor Palpatine was not Force-sensitive," Anakin inquired, with mock curiosity, "what could have led him to offer to teach me the ways of the Dark Side of the Force?"

Amidala's nostrils flared as she stood where she was, like an alabaster statue of an enraged goddess. "You forget, Master Skywalker," she said icily, "that whatever you say transpired on the night in question can neither be proved nor disproved. The Senate has no way of knowing the truth, and therefore the verbal evidence that you provide cannot be taken into account. A million things could have happened that night, and there are a million reasons that could be true as to why Chancellor Palpatine is now dead." Her eyes flashed dangerously; she would not be so foolishly bold as to accuse the Jedi outright, but she was close…oh, she was very close.

Anakin groaned inwardly. With reluctant fingers, he drew from his belt the Sith lightsaber, hidden until now under the long folds of his cloak. It wasn't that he didn't _want_ to get off—he just didn't like touching the thing, and preferred as many layers between it and himself as possible.

"If you demand physical proof," Anakin said loudly, allowing the lightsaber to lift a few inches into the air from his outstretched palm, "then I offer this to the Senate." Of its own accord, it appeared, the lightsaber activated, and the unusually long, red blade sliced into the air above it. A simultaneous gasp was emitted from almost every hover-dais in the room, and Anakin met Amidala's shocked gaze steadily. "The thing about murder," he said, his voice low enough so that only Amidala and the few around her could hear, "is that the victim has to be unarmed." He stepped back a pace, and the lightsaber stayed where it was, on display for every pair of eyes that goggled at it.

"The lightsaber is a weapon exclusive to the Jedi—and to the Sith," Anakin said, his voice once more carrying over the Chamber. "And as any Jedi will tell you, the red blade is exclusive to the Sith alone. In all history, no Jedi has ever carried a lightsaber of this color." The lightsaber deactivated and rose toward Amidala—she fearfully reached out a hand for it. As she examined it, Anakin continued, "The designs on the hilt are Sith symbols, passed down for thousands of years to the darker users of the Force. The lettering is an ancient Sith language, which no one but a Sith could read. This is the lightsaber with which Palpatine fought that night, and it was found beside his body the next morning. So _there_," Anakin said, unable to keep the triumph out of his tone, "is your physical proof."

With a visible effort, Amidala straightened and held out the lightsaber for Anakin to take. He waved a hand and the hilt flew to him, and he hung it on his belt. Amidala's face had turned very white. Anakin, despite his profound relief, could not help feeling sorry for her as he sensed the mixture of despair and weary bewilderment that filled her as she understood the truth.

"There—" Amidala's voice caught in her throat; she swallowed and tried again. "There will be no further questions, Master Skywalker. The Senate will take a vote."

Every hover-dais in the room, besides Anakin's, was parked right up beside a door in the wall that led to the rest of the building. It was through this that Amidala quickly stepped as soon as she had finished speaking. At the same time, Anakin's own dais began sinking downward, back into the floor.

Only a few short seconds after the dais had landed and Anakin stepped back onto the floor, the door opened and Windu stepped inside.

"You did well," he congratulated his former apprentice. Anakin smiled at the praise.

"But—they still haven't voted," he pointed out. Windu waved this off dismissively.

"After that, it's only a formality," he assured Anakin. "Unofficially, you have already won."

At that, the last of Anakin's doubts vanished, and he breathed easy for the first time all day. They left the room, walking side by side in the crowded hallways, until they reached Anakin's speeder. As soon as they got in, Anakin remembered something. He fumbled at his belt.

"Here," he said quickly, pushing the second lightsaber in Windu's direction. Windu accepted it with the calm of one who knows he has nothing to fear from the temptations of the Dark Side. Anakin had no such security.

* * *

**Author's Note: I was planning to add another little plot twist at the end of this chapter, but that would have made it run really long, so I had to settle with this. The next chapter shouldn't be long in coming, though--I'm already working on it.**


	19. The Search Begins

The old year passed into the new in a surprisingly smooth manner; just when the Republic began to realize the enormity of the danger that it had been in, under the rule of a Sith Lord, Senator Amidala was hastily elected to the recently vacated position, and society was gently put to ease again, like a child awoken in the middle of the night and soothed back to sleep. Ferus at last became a Knight, about which Anakin was very pleased, and Anakin himself became extremely busy.

He was not the only one, either—while the Republic slumbered, blissfully unaware of the fate it had escaped, all the Jedi were working furiously to undo Palpatine's damage and continue with their normal duties at the same time. The most pressing problem on the Council's collective mind, however, was neither of these things. Probably Anakin would have never known this, for they betrayed it to very few, had Master Windu not come to his door one morning.

A short time ago, about a month after anything out of the ordinary had occurred, Anakin had knocked on his Master's door very early in the morning while Windu was meditating, desperate to discuss what he considered to be a very disturbing matter. It was interesting to note that the scenario had changed very little since that time: nothing especial had come to pass in the month since Anakin's trial at the Senate, and the discussion that was to take place very soon was on the same topic of which they had spoken before. The only differences were that this time, it was Windu who came to Anakin, and that his former Padawan was not deep in meditation of the living Force, but sprawled facedown on his sofa, sleeping peacefully.

As soon as he heard Windu's knock, Anakin jerked awake and pushed himself up off the couch. Little lines streaked across his face from the upholstery, a shallow mirroring of the thin, prominent scar beside his right eye that he had borne for over a month now. Anakin hastened to open the door, and frowned in confusion when he saw who it was.

"Master, what is it?" he asked. The barely unspoken question on his lips was, "And couldn't it wait until later?"

Windu made a small gesture toward Anakin's so recently vacated couch. "May I come in?" he asked. Anakin quickly stepped aside, and Windu entered to sit down on the sofa. Sitting beside him, Anakin repeated his question. He had been the apprentice of Mace Windu long enough to know when something was important.

Windu got straight to the point. "Anakin," he said, "have you ever heard the basic principle of the Sith?"

Anakin threw his somewhat dazed mind back in attempted remembrance. "Turn your fear to anger?" he guessed. He thought he recalled hearing the barbaric tenet somewhere, and thought it fit the Sith nicely. Windu gave a conceding shrug.

"Technically, yes, I suppose you're correct," he said. "But that is their principle for themselves, something that _they_ constantly choose to remember. We, on the other hand, choose to remember something else about them, something that is just as deeply important to us as their only adversaries."

Anakin's brain was beginning to clear, but he still wished that Windu would hold off with the riddles for a few more minutes. "I guess I haven't heard it, then, Master," he admitted.

"I'm sure you have," Windu said, watching his face. "The answer I was looking for is, 'There are always two—a Master and an apprentice.'"

Instantly, Anakin knew his Master had been right. He did remember that—he remembered everything about that night. There was Obi-Wan beside him, his faint blue eyes never turning from his Master's body, and across from the two of them, Anakin had heard Yoda speaking to Windu in low tones.

"Always two, there are," he had murmured. "A Master and an apprentice."

Anakin remembered Windu's answer, as well, and he choked. "Do you think that Palpatine trained that—that thing that killed Qui-Gon?" he asked, although he thought he already knew the answer. Windu nodded.

"We think it's safe to assume that Count Dooku is—was his apprentice after that. However, now that Palpatine is dead, Dooku is the Master. It is extremely important," Windu pressed, "that we find Dooku before he is able to sufficiently train an apprentice. The problem with that is, of course, that no one has seen the Count since you and Obi-Wan battled him at the Battle of Geonosis."

"You want me to find him?" Anakin asked.

"Yes—and no." As his former Padawan sat, trying to work his way through this, Windu leaned forward and elaborated. "Anakin," he said, "how many visions have you had so far?"

"Two," Anakin answered, frowning. "You know that." Before Windu could speak again, Anakin anticipated him. "Master, I don't think I can do it," he protested. "They're not that sort of visions—I mean, they've all been in the future so far. I couldn't tell you where he is _now_. And anyway, I've only had two, and I've never been able to control them."

"Anakin, Anakin—" Windu held up a hand to stem the flow of objection. He looked almost amused at Anakin's alarm. "The Council has discussed this, and we feel that such a gift should be put into practice for the Jedi Order."

"But I can't!" Anakin repeated fervently, deciding not to press the point that his 'gift' had certainly already been useful.

"Anakin," Windu said again, "I understand that this will certainly be difficult for you. I also understand that you may quite easily fail. This is a very important matter, but no one will be angry if you don't succeed. It may be that we expect far too much of you."

Feeling very doubtful, Anakin shook his head, but said, "I'll do my best, Master."

Windu left, and Anakin leaned back into the couch. Half of him was wishing that he could just go back to sleep, and the other was submerged in helplessness. Sinking his head into a hand, Anakin ran his fingers roughly through his hair, thinking hard.

Both times before when a vision had permeated his sleep, it had been completely involuntary. Anakin had no idea how to make one come to him, much less control its contents. _They _visited _him_, not the other way around.

Anakin thought back, racking his brain to bring back the memory of Dooku's face. He recalled white hair, eyes that were cold and amused and drowned in Darkness, a smooth and hardened face. He vaguely remembered a low voice that was delicately accented, but not without a growl hovering at its edges, and a swiftness and power in battle that belied his years. So this was the Sith Master, the new guardian of the Dark Side. Anakin thought it a bit unfair of Windu to expect him to be able to locate such a man, especially since the Sith prized secrecy and mystery so highly.

Closing his eyes, Anakin lay back down on the couch and brought back Dooku's face. If only he could concentrate on that picture, then maybe he could compel a vision to appear. With that image before his mind's eye, Anakin allowed himself to fall back into his interrupted sleep, unconsciously burying his face in the pillow again.

* * *

Anakin's efforts in this matter, diligent as they were, produced frustrating results. He could not help but dream of Dooku's face, thinking about it as often as he did, but these were not the visions he sought. They were simply snatches of faint memories, and Dooku spoke no words but what Anakin had already heard him say, unless the Sith drifted into an entirely different dream, and then there was no telling what might happen.

By the time a week had passed, he was feeling somewhat disheartened. It was impossible to forget the urgency which Windu had done his best to downplay for Anakin's sake—they both knew the importance of finding Dooku quickly. So when Anakin was summoned to the Council Chamber, he was certain that he knew the reason why, and he dreaded having to tell them that there was nothing he could do.

Standing before them, as he had done so many times before, Anakin bowed. He did his best not to show his anxiety, but knew that it showed on his face. Windu spoke first.

"Anakin, have you made any progress?" he asked. Anakin shook his head.

"I haven't, Master, I'm sorry," he said helplessly. "I have been trying, but I don't think it's possible. The Force refuses to let me see anything beyond what it gives me."

If Windu was disappointed, he did not show it, and for that Anakin was grateful. He instead inclined his head toward Master Yoda.

"An assignment of a different sort, we have for you, Master Skywalker," Yoda said, taking his cue. "Recall, do you, that left on Utapau General Grievous was, until further notice?"

Anakin nodded, a bit surprised at the abrupt turn this exchange had taken. Yoda leaned forward, his clawed, four-fingered hands clutching the head of his walking stick. "Missing, he is," he said meaningfully. Anakin's eyebrows shot up.

"Missing—you mean, he's left Utapau?" he questioned, aghast. Yoda leaned back in his seat; Anakin had the impression that the little green Jedi Master enjoyed the impression he had made.

"Know, we do not," he admitted. "On Utapau, he may be, or elsewhere. Lost track of him, the Council has, only yesterday. We cannot afford not knowing where he is."

Before Anakin could speak, Windu broke in. "This has nothing to do with your Force-abilities," he assured quickly. "We need you to go to Utapau and all its surrounding planets. We knew Grievous had a ship, but we did not think he would dare to use it. See what you can find."

Anakin bowed again, relieved to be given a mission that was far more potentially attainable than groping blindly and crudely in the Force for an ability that he did not possess. He left the Council Room quickly and headed back to his room to pack.

* * *

There were many things, Anakin admitted to himself, that he did not like about being a Jedi. That was not to say he did not enjoy the life that he led, and certainly he would not have traded it for any other life at all—but all the same, it did have its downsides. One of these was being wedged into the seat of a Jedi starfighter for near on thirty-six hours. Of course, if you _were_ a Jedi, you could put yourself into a Force trance, which helped to pass the time—but all the same, it was interesting to note how that seat, which always looked so spacious at the beginning of a trip, seemed to shrink dramatically in hyperspace.

When Anakin reached Utapau and stepped out of the cockpit for the first time in a long time, his cramped legs protested vehemently, and he almost toppled over. He managed to regain his Jedi dignity and the use of his lower limbs within a few short moments, however, and walked toward the Utapaun Port Administrator, who had come out to the hangar to greet him.

"Master Jedi," said the Utapaun, making a short bow, "I welcome you wholeheartedly to my planet. I hope we can be of some service to you. My name is Tion Medon."

Anakin bowed in return. "Your cooperation is much appreciated," he said automatically. "I understand that General Grievous was here very recently?"

Medon nodded. His was a very unsettling appearance, with an especially elongated face, dark eyes surrounded by startling red, and grayed skin. When he spoke, his voice seemed almost to seethe from his mouth.

"The general," he said, "was here on Utapau only a few days ago."

"Then you're certain he's not here any longer?" Anakin inquired. Again, Medon shook his head.

"Impossible. Several of us saw his ship leave the planet."

"And you don't know where he has gone?"

"I am afraid not."

It seemed a rather harsh dead end to hit so soon after getting started. As Anakin chewed his lower lip, trying to think of some way to figure out from this scant information where Grievous had gone, Medon spoke up suddenly.

"Master Jedi," he said, "the Separatist established his hideout only a short ways from here. Would you be interested in visiting it?"

Anakin looked up. "Yes, please," he said gratefully. Without another word Medon led him into the walls of the sinkhole, out of the burning sun into the shade. As they walked, Anakin looked up and saw, through the skeletal covering over the hangar, a giant spherical structure protruding from the side of the sinkhole.

"Is that your building?" he asked, indicating the sphere. He wouldn't have asked at all, but the shape and size seemed far different from everything around it. Medon looked up as well, following Anakin's gaze.

"No," he answered. "No, that was the general's building. He was here for several months, remember, and he had time to have it erected. There were meetings—Separatist leaders would come and congregate there. I was afraid for the people around me, but after we surrendered they never harmed us."

There seemed to be a pathway, climbing up the steep side of the cliff, that led to the sphere. It was in this direction that Medon led Anakin, and though the Jedi occasionally saw large, scaled beasts being ridden past them, the Port Administrator seemed to prefer making the journey on foot. Anakin didn't have a problem with that—he loved driving mechanical things, but living organisms not so much. You would never catch an _Orva7_ speeder bucking its rider to the ground, as animals seemed so wont to do to him.

The interior of the sphere was, as the exterior had promised, enormous. A large section of the wall facing the sinkhole had been left out, creating a view of the entire area around it. Placed near this was a curved table, made to seat several people, and chairs, as though the former occupants of this place had wanted to enjoy the fresh air while they plotted the Republic's downfall. With a quietly murmured "Thank you" to Medon, Anakin moved towards these, the only objects in the place that suggested that any living being had existed here before now.

He brushed his fingertips against the steel, closing his eyes, and layered his touch with the Force. He was rewarded with two quickly-flashed images, the impressions left in the large room by the Separatists, like faint fingerprints in soft clay. It was difficult to register them, but Anakin did it—there was Grievous, standing above the table and obviously angry, shouting at the Neimoidians sitting uncomfortably in their chairs—and there he was again, moving a pen across a scrap of flimsy on the desk with robotic precision, and then shoving it towards the Neimoidians and walking out of the building.

Anakin's eyes snapped open, content with the knowledge that there was nothing more to be gleaned from that area. Slowly, thoughtfully, he let out his breath.

"Did Grievous leave anything here?" he asked, turning back to Medon. "Intentionally or otherwise?"

"I do not believe so," Medon admitted. "Certainly nothing intentionally, except for that furniture there."

Anakin's mind was already moving past Medon's answer. No, Grievous was not stupid—he would not have been so careless as to leave any hint of his destination where a Jedi could find it. In some ways, he was cleverer than his leaders. But the Neimoidians, they were not so bright. If Grievous had kept that flimsy, then it certainly would have been destroyed, but a Neimoidian might have easily left it behind…lost it…let it carelessly slip from a robe pocket…

_Come on, come on,_ Anakin thought, closing his eyes again and tilting his face upward. _Where is it?_

He leaned back against the table, his hands closing around its edge to steady himself. He felt a slight rocking motion under his fingers—the table was wobbling, but only a little bit. _Yes…yes…_prompted the Force, and on that alone, Anakin knelt down, opening his eyes again, and saw the corner of a yellowed piece of flimsy sticking out from underneath the table leg.

His heart was pounding furiously at the prospect of triumph. Carefully, he eased the flimsy out from under the steel, and immediately the table tilted precariously, deprived of its level. Anakin unfolded the paper—and yes, there were words on it, written in what was presumably Grievous's hand.

Had Medon not been standing only a few yards away, Anakin would have given up and laughed, loud, raucous, uncontrollable peals of laughter that would have echoed wildly in this room. As it was, he swiftly pressed the knuckles of his right hand to his mouth, thankful that he was hidden under the table and Medon could not see his face. Grievous had given them orders, instructions, or something of the sort, and—oh, Force, it was too good, too funny to be true!—_the Neimoidians had used them to steady the table._

"Master Jedi, is there something wrong?"

Clearing his throat self-consciously, Anakin straightened, clutching the flimsy in his hand. "No—no, there's nothing wrong," he assured the Utapaun. "Thank you very much for your help, Administrator Medon. I can promise you that the Republic will not forget it."

Correctly assuming himself to be dismissed, Medon bowed once more—Anakin returned the gesture—and left Grievous's building. Anakin himself sank into a chair, and, now that he was alone, allowed a few of the mad giggles to escape him. Then, swiftly becoming businesslike once more, Anakin unfolded the flimsy again. At once, he saw what he had been too distracted to see before: namely, that the flimsy was torn haphazardly in two, right down the middle.

He knelt again to check the other legs of the table for the other half, but this proved fruitless; perhaps the Neimoidians had not considered ripping the flimsy in two an adequate security precaution, and had taken the other half with them just in case. Still, this was far more than Anakin had hoped for. Sitting down once more, he read through the note. The part he had in his hands was hardly complete:

…_must have adequate troops, but this needs be done…_

…_far—it is there that he and I will be waiting for you…_

…_not privileged to know. Do as you are told, and it…_

…_unt's name must not be mentioned._

Cryptic, at best, Anakin thought disappointedly. Running his knuckle against the scar near his right eye as he rested his elbow on the table, in what had become an absent-minded sort of habit, he attempted to decipher the note's meaning.

Grievous needed soldiers for something—that in itself could hardly be good news, but there was not much to be gleaned as it was. Anakin set it aside in his mind and went on.

Surely Dooku had to be involved in this plan, whatever it was. Grievous mentioned that he would be waiting with someone, and couldn't "unt" be the last part of "Count"? Oh, what Anakin would have given to read the rest of that second line—it had to be Grievous's location! But "far" was not the greatest hint; all that told him was that wherever Dooku and his General were, it was presumably not in the Utapau system.

Anakin sighed—as far as he could tell, there was nothing more to be gotten from this flimsy. It should have been a gold mine, but he knew very little more now than he had before. Carefully he folded the note back up and put it into his pocket, then began the long climb back down the cliff face to thank Tion Medon once more for his help.

* * *

**Author's Note: Ok, I need to stop making promises as to when new chapters will be out, because quite obviously I can't keep them. Next chapter will be up...when it's finished.**


	20. The Dark Planet

Anakin stayed on Utapau three more nights, hoping to find some other hint as to where Grievous had gone, but his search proved in vain. After a while, he was forced to conclude that there was nothing more on this planet, and climbed reluctantly back into the tiny cockpit of his fighter.

Privately, Anakin would have liked to be able to fly triumphantly back to Coruscant only a few days after leaving the city planet, with Grievous safely in custody. But it didn't take a genius to see that this was simply wishful thinking, and Anakin decided instead to head back to Coruscant and put this problem to wiser heads than his. After another agonizing thirty-six hours, half of which he spent rubbing his aching legs, Anakin was finally back home.

The first thing he did upon arrival at the Temple was seek out his former Master. Windu, as it turned out, was in with his class of younglings. Anakin, standing outside the door, was content to wait until Windu was finished, but the Master sensed him and called out, "You can come in, Anakin." The door slid open, and Anakin stepped inside.

As one, the younglings looked up at him as he entered, momentarily distracted. Something twisted painfully in Anakin's chest as he saw that now there were only thirteen of them.

Windu looked faintly surprised. "Did you find Grievous?" he asked. Anakin shook his head. "You're back very soon. Did you even look for him?"

"Well, yes, I did," Anakin said slowly. "But then I thought I had better come back and show you what I found."

Before Windu answered, he turned back to the class, which had stopped moving in its entirety and was now watching the exchange eagerly. "Keep practicing," Windu instructed sternly, and the children reluctantly went back to whatever it was they were doing. Only then did Windu return his attention to Anakin. "And what did you find?"

"This." In Anakin's palm rested the torn piece of flimsy. Windu took it, looking questioningly at Anakin. "They're orders from Grievous, I think, to the rest of the Separatist leaders."

Windu's eyes were scanning the flimsy, registering its contents swiftly. He looked up after a moment. "This was all you found?"

"Yes," Anakin said. "It was in Grievous's hideout on Utapau. I looked for the rest of it, but there wasn't anything else there."

"That's too bad," Windu murmured, looking down again at the scrap of flimsy. "It could have told us a lot."

"At least we know now that Dooku is involved in it," Anakin pointed out. Windu nodded slowly.

"I'll show this to the rest of the Council," he said finally. "Maybe combined we'll be able to make something of it. In the meantime, can I count on you to keep searching?"

"Of course," Anakin said, then added, "But I'd like to try and figure it out as well, if you don't mind, Master."

"Be my guest. I'll give it back to you when the Council has finished with it, if we don't find anything."

Contented with this promise, Anakin left the room. It was a relief to be back at the Temple he loved—although he had hardly been gone for a week, it felt like much longer. With no particular destination in mind, his feet traced the familiar path back toward his rooms. Anakin flopped down on his couch and muttered into it, "Must have adequate troops, but this needs be done—" Done how? Surreptitiously? Quickly? Over a long span of time? No, that was no help at all…

* * *

The inevitable hitch was, of course, that what had begun as an exciting mystery swiftly faded into a hateful and frustrating problem as days flew past. Anakin, who in the beginning had made a subconscious vow to himself to somehow understand what Grievous had meant by the message, now found that he would reach for the copy he had written out for himself, then put it back wearily and think, by way of excuse, _I won't make any progress anyway._ He had read the kriffing thing so many times by now that, had someone asked him to, he could have recited it backwards and still perfectly while asleep and being held underwater, or so he believed wholeheartedly. 

Although the Council usually tried to keep Jedi in the dark as to other Jedi's missions unless it was necessary for them to know something, Ferus's Master was Siri, and Siri's old Master was Adi Gallia, who had been and still was on the Council. Through this trail of information, Ferus soon knew about Anakin's peculiar task, and long after Anakin was dead sick of that stupid message, Ferus kept pressing him to keep thinking. At times in the past, Anakin had to admit, his friend's persistence had been his saving grace. Right now, it was just annoying.

"All right, so we know he didn't mean Abregado-Rae," said Ferus, drawing a red line over the little green sphere on the map that was splayed out between the two of them on the table. There were many such lines on this map. "Unless you're not entirely sure…"

"I spent almost a week there," Anakin said bitingly. "Trust me, I'd know. Wherever Grievous is, it's not there."

"Right." Ferus let the red line stand. His fingers absently walked across the thick piece of flimsy that displayed every planet from Coruscant to the Outer Rim. It was one of the most comprehensive maps ever drawn, and beyond what it showed very few people had traveled, so Ferus and Anakin had thought themselves safe in excluding anything beyond the Rim. This map represented four months of work, of sitting around Ferus's table for hours, of Anakin shooting off suddenly at some distant planet, only to report that no, Grievous was certainly not there, and another red mark would appear.

They had started by crossing of all the planets in the Utapau system, then, after a few quick searches, felt safe in crossing out all the planets that were exceedingly close to that system as well, like Mon Calamari, Quirmia, and Tund. After that, they began searching for reports of any soldiers, clone or droid, seen in groups in a specific area more than once. Now that the factory on Geonosis had been shut down, they had a better chance of finding any other factories that might have been running and taking care to look in that area especially. And whenever they thought they had a very good lead, Anakin was sent to take a look.

And yet, somehow, the red lines kept appearing, and Grievous was still missing in an extreme.

"Well, this is good," Ferus said bracingly. "We've already eliminated about half."

"_Half?_" Anakin repeated disbelievingly. Oh, Force, had Grievous just disappeared from the universe entirely? Was that it? Or maybe he was dead. Maybe he was dead and they just hadn't found out yet. "Let me see that." He flipped the map around so that it was facing him.

Ferus was right—at least fifty percent of the planets marked on their map bore the ominous red mark. Technically, it should have been considered great progress. But every day that went by without finding Grievous always ended with Anakin going to bed feeling like a failure. It was his first real mission, his first solo mission, a simple search-and-destroy, and he couldn't do it, not even with the help of his über-eager best friend. With a sigh, Anakin pushed the map back towards Ferus, who had that look on his face that meant he was thinking something but deciding whether or not to let it out.

"Anakin," he said finally, "Have you thought that maybe this was what they wanted us to do?"

"What?" asked Anakin, not understanding. Ferus elaborated slowly.

"I mean, what if Grievous meant for the Jedi to find this? He must have known that the Jedi would search his hideout on Utapau. He might have planted it—what if it's a false lead?"

"If it were a false lead, it would _lead_ somewhere," Anakin muttered under his breath. But he shook his head. "I don't think so. It didn't feel deliberate. And besides, if they'd wanted us to go off on a wild-bantha chase, they would have left us the other half of the note, _which_, by the way, I would actually prefer to the current scenario."

"I'd like to have the other half too, but we have to work with what we have," Ferus said patiently.

"I meant I'd prefer it _was_ a wild-bantha chase," Anakin retorted. "I hate having this thing—" he gestured angrily at the copy of the note "—between me and Grievous!" Fed up, he shoved his chair back forcefully and stood. With nowhere to go from there, he simply turned around, running a hand over his face in frustration.

Ferus, knowing as only he could how frustrating this was to his friend, decided to keep silent, and kept his gaze firmly on the map. Anakin, now looking up at the ceiling, made a disgruntled noise and stayed where he was. He had just about decided to calm down and turn around, however, when Ferus spoke again. His voice sounded very strange all of a sudden—tight, as though he were afraid of letting something out.

"It could be Mustafar."

Anakin made the noise again, louder this time, but conceded sullenly, "Well, it's not close to Utapau, anyway—"

"No!" Ferus burst out, his voice quick and almost excited. "You don't get it!" The intensity with which he spoke was such that Anakin turned around and stared at him. "It's not 'far'; it doesn't mean that it's a long way from Utapau. We never had the entire note. The word wasn't 'far', it was 'Mustafar', and we only saw the end!"

Disbelief was written on every inch of Anakin's face. He swore loudly and fiercely, stepped forward and grabbed the map from Ferus, as though to assure himself that a planet called Mustafar really did exist. His anger was not directed towards the fact he knew Ferus was right, but rather that they had gone four months without realizing the truth.

"You know how much time we wasted?" Anakin demanded, after he had exhausted his entire Tatooine vocabulary in both Huttese and Basic. "Grievous could be anywhere by now, and all we had to do was look at a kriffing map and think twice!"

"Then go, fast," Ferus urged him, standing; his face was flushed with exhilaration. "I'll tell the Council, you go and catch up with him."

Anakin paused; even in the midst of his storm of anger, he realized how selfish that would be. "But you figured it out," he said reluctantly, bravely ignoring the great heave of protest that rose in his head at these words. He would fail his first real mission and lose the chance for which he had thirsted so long, but the credit belonged to Ferus, and so did the reward. "You should go find him."

A thin, knowing smile passed across Ferus's face. The sacrifice Anakin offered was not lost on him. "Not me," he said. "You're the hero, remember? And anyway, it is _your_ mission."

Relief washed over Anakin before he could help himself; his was not a willingly sacrificial nature. He went quickly from the room, pausing only to grab a few protein cubes out of Ferus's fridge droid, then ran to the east hangar, which happened to be the closest.

* * *

Anakin's feelings as he sat once more in the seat of a fighter faltered from chagrin to anxiety and back again. How could he not have seen what was right before his eyes, and what, oh _what_ would he do if Grievous had gone already? He took some comfort in the fact that it was not an easy thing to quickly transport "adequate troops", but then again, Grievous had had months to do whatever he needed. 

Trapped inside the close confines of his starfighter, knowing that his target was out there somewhere but not yet knowing his fate, Anakin knew he was sure to go mad if he allowed his mind to dwell on it for long. Instead, he leaned his head back against the seat and pushed himself again into a Force-trance. Under normal circumstances, he could have stayed like that for days, unaware of his surroundings and lost in the workings of the Force, but he purposely did not allow himself to lose himself so deeply. That way, when the soft beeping that meant he was approaching Mustafar began, Anakin was aware of it and opened his eyes, tense, almost painful excitement thrilling through him.

Instantly alert, he made a quick scan for life forms on Mustafar's immediate surface with his ship's instruments. There was a great deal of movement, and also a great deal of heat—both of these were due to the massive rivers of lava that thundered across the mountainous crags of the planet, and it made it difficult to distinguish any living beings. As he got closer, however, Anakin saw an outcrop over the river that flowed beneath him that looked a bit too neat to be natural. Rounded and smooth—it was a docking bay.

Anakin's heart fluttered wildly with relief; until now, he had been sure in his own mind that Ferus had been right, but there had been no proof on paper. Only someone desperate to be hidden would come here. And, he thought suddenly, such a place could hardly fail to hold appeal for a man held in the Dark Side's grasp. The planet was raw, unaltered power shaped into a ball, with roiling waves that tossed in burning oceans and the harsh cut of the rocks that jutted against the sky, which was red, tainted with the color of the lava. The golden warmth of its sun never reached here; instead, it was drowned out and replaced with the fierce heat and crimson shadows of flame.

As soon as Anakin landed his fighter and stepped out, he gasped at the sudden change of temperature. Almost choking on the heat, he threw off his cloak and left it beside the fighter, then sought in the Force for anything living. He found no traces of life nearby—hardly surprising in such a forsaken place—but wherever Grievous was, it had to be close to the docking bay.

Anakin squinted into the distance; it was so difficult to see through the clouds of smoke that covered everything, but then his Force-sharpened eyes picked out a long metal bar that appeared to be a few hundred feet away, suspended horizontally across what looked like thin air. He followed it with his gaze, stumbling vaguely towards it as he tried to see what it was, and thought he saw it disappearing into the rock. No, not the rock—a building! The bar was a railing of some sort, and underneath it was a door—

So focused was Anakin's attention that he failed to watch his feet, which, in this place, was not a mistake one could afford to make. His ankle turned painfully on a loose rock, and he slid, dangerously out of control, down the bank and to within inches of the powerful lava river beside him. For one frightful second, Anakin thought he would keep going—then he skidded to a halt, and pebbles sprayed from beneath his feet helplessly into the lava. They were swallowed in an instant, and Anakin breathed a shaking sigh of relief. Cautiously he pushed himself back up onto safer ground, and took care where he put his feet from then on.

The building before him was becoming clearer now, larger than Anakin had supposed at first. It towered over him in the red dimness like a giant creature, and Anakin had the impression as he walked toward the door that he was about to be swallowed. Dismissing this notion from his head, he reached out with the Force again, to find whether the door was locked. No, there was no lock—but it could only be opened from the inside. To Anakin's surprise, however, the mechanism was quite simple to undo with a twitch of his hand. He would have thought that such a place deserved the best security, but then, he considered, probably they had not been expecting to be found.

He stepped inside, to see a long hallway, stretching down for a long, curving ways, with many smaller passages branching off it. Its floor, walls and ceiling were all made of the same dull stone, embodying that bleak simplicity which seemed so characteristic of the Sith. Long glo-lamps, painfully glaring against the rock, were placed horizontally on the walls all along the passages, to light what would be otherwise a perfect and unfathomable darkness.

Anakin's heart was in his mouth; he moved swiftly down the main hallway, muffling his footsteps with the Force, until he heard another pair of feet coming fast down the hall toward him. Immediately he ducked into a side passage—if only there were a shadow to hide in, but the light was everywhere—and veiled himself with the Force as best he could, willing whoever it was to pass him by without comment. For the first time, he wondered with a panicked start what he would do when he found Grievous—then he forgot all about the general as he saw who it was that walked past him.

The clone apparently saw nothing out of the ordinary as it made its rounds, but Anakin could hardly breathe. Grievous had the clones. The Separatists—_the Sith_—had the Republic's soldiers. They had twice the army, and the Republic had nothing. The clone moved into another hallway, and Anakin slipped back into the main passage, his task far more urgent than before.

That one clone was the only one he met as he continued; security was indeed very lax here. Anakin followed the hallway as silently as he could, until he found at its end another large steel door. This one did have a lock, but he undid it easily and stepped inside.

The room that met his eyes was very large indeed, with a much higher ceiling than that of its preceding hall. Like the hallway, there were no decorations on the walls or floor to hide the asceticism of the rock, but there was a computer terminal on the other side of the room, beside another door. Ignoring the door for the moment, Anakin stepped quickly toward the terminal. It was blank, but he tapped a key, and the screen blinked to life.

"PASSWORD REQUIRED", it now read in stark white letters. Sometimes, Anakin knew, the wrong password could set off an alarm—playing it safe, he left the terminal alone and looked around on the desk. It was immaculate: there were no leftover flimsies here. Then the thought struck him, and Anakin quickly checked the computer itself—at the push of a button, a small datachip popped out into his hand.

He winced, glanced up at the screen, but it had not changed. Anakin looked down at the chip in his hand; to his satisfaction, it was labeled, albeit not very clearly. On it, someone had written the letters BA-ST, and then something unintelligible underneath that, presumably a translation. If he could take this back to the Council, surely they would be able to break into it. Anakin placed the chip in his pocket, and then, just before the voice came from behind him, he felt another presence in the Force break suddenly upon him. He whirled.

"There is a saying, young Skywalker; perhaps you've heard it?" inquired Dooku amusedly, looking down at Anakin with a wry little smile on his face. He was standing on a walkway above the door through which Anakin had entered, and which the Jedi had entirely failed to notice. "If you stick your nose into other people's business, you'll get it cut off."

Anakin's heart, which had begun beating rather rapidly at Dooku's entrance, gradually began to slow. Despite the Sith's calm front, he could sense Dooku's frustration and annoyance in the fact that he had been discovered. This did nothing, however, to ease the nervous fear that gripped at Anakin's chest. He was not fool enough to believe that his victory over Palpatine had been anything but luck—and perhaps this time, he would not be so lucky.

"I've heard it," Anakin conceded; his tone was cocky in his reluctance to betray any fear. "What about the one that goes, 'The Jedi win, and the bad guys get what's coming to them'?"

In one movement, so swift that Anakin flinched in spite of himself, Dooku leapt lightly from his perch above the door to the floor below him. He made no noise when he landed on both feet, and then he gave a soft chuckle. His voice was as Anakin remembered it, elegant and hard, but easily cruel in a moment's time.

"How quaint," he murmured patronizingly. "I remember those antiquated Jedi views quite well—oh, yes, bad and good and right and wrong. I even remember when I believed them with all my heart and soul, just as you do." Dooku looked at Anakin almost pityingly. "It is a shame that you refuse so stubbornly to give them up."

Anakin just barely refrained from rolling his eyes. "I've already had this conversation with your Master," he said. "Just before I killed him."

He would have thought such a statement could only anger the Sith, but to his surprise, Dooku only shrugged. He stood easily, casually, but Anakin could see he was alert. "Well, you saved me that trouble, anyway," he said.

Since even before becoming a Jedi, Anakin had been well acquainted with the horrors of the Sith, but somehow this still managed to shock and repulse him, and it showed on his face. Dooku only laughed again, throwing back his white head.

"Yes, I would have killed him, Skywalker—are you surprised? I'd had quite enough of playing apprentice to his senile whims. He never knew, of course; he thought me to be perfectly obedient to him." Dooku was watching Anakin with an almost wary look in his eye, as though watching for the Jedi's response. "But of course, if there is one thing you can count upon in a Sith, it is that you can never _trust_ them!"

At these words, his arm shot up without warning—Anakin reacted instinctively, without thinking, for if he had tried to think he would have been blasted. His lightsaber activated, he held it before him as he had seen Obi-Wan do, and the lightning that flew from Dooku's fingers was absorbed in its blade. Amazing that so much could happen in a single second—Dooku was still watching him, but with something like approval in his gaze.

"You have learned since the last time we met," he said. "I can see why my Master thought so highly of you." His own lightsaber blade, blood red, shot out of its hilt at his side. "Unfortunately, I am not such a fool as he was. I can see that nothing I say will persuade you of your mistakes." The lightsaber twirled lazily over his hand. "So I think I will be forced to kill you."

His attack this time came with just as little warning as before, but this time Anakin was expecting something of the sort, and when the Sith lightsaber came crashing down over his head, it was blocked with Anakin's of bright blue. He threw it off him and parried the next stroke, breathless.

But Dooku's determination to see Anakin dead pounded down incessantly upon the Jedi. Anakin himself was forced to move with a dangerous speed to stay one step ahead of his assailant, sacrificing safety for survival. He was moving gradually towards the wall, forced backwards by Dooku's ever-present rain of blows until only a few feet separated him from the end of the room. Before Dooku had any time to gain an advantage with this, however, Anakin dove under the Sith blade and found himself on Dooku's other side. The Sith whirled, but now his back was to the wall.

Anakin's thoughts crystallized in an instant: if he could keep Dooku against the wall, tire him out without letting him get in one good hit, then there was a chance in Anakin's favor. But even as he thought it, Dooku's face twisted in anger—tired of games and chases, he lashed out with a ferocity Anakin had not expected. The red blade flashed, and Anakin saw, as though in a daze, his mechanical hand clatter to the ground, severed at the wrist, his lightsaber clutched tightly in its useless grip.

No sooner did the awful sight cross his vision than he felt a painful tightening around his throat, and saw his feet lift off the ground. Dooku's hand was outstretched in his direction, clenched around skin and bone that it did not touch. It was the most terrible feeling, opening his mouth for air and finding nothing. Anakin gasped and choked, tearing uselessly at the invisible grip at his throat with his remaining hand. He expected it to throw him across the room, but instead it only tightened again.

"It's a pity," Dooku was saying, undeterred by the noises coming from Anakin's throat. "We'd planned on staying here a while longer. That's changed now, of course—I'm sure you've told the Jedi Council where you are, and I can't have them barging in on me."

Anakin's vision had begun to swim—oh, his lungs would burst! But an idea struck him suddenly: he had heard of Jedi Masters, ancient and powerful, who could make themselves appear dead, even to other Force-users. Anakin had only the vaguest idea of how they'd done it, clinging to a single thread of life and letting go of all others, and it was unimaginably dangerous, but if he could manage it…

He could feel himself already going faint—rather than fight it, Anakin let himself slide into it, breaking one more tie with the living world each second. His eyes were closing—no, it was too fast, he thought, panicked. But it was too late; he was desperate now, clutching at any shred of life, but the carefully held thread was slipping from his fingers. He couldn't move a muscle—no, no, it was too fast, he had lost control, he couldn't stop himself from going too far!

But here…here there was air…he breathed it in slowly, an unassailable peace stealing over his mind as the panic faded. His head sank limply onto his chest. The pain at his throat was fading.

The last thread snapped, and Anakin crumpled to the ground.


	21. Resurrection and Renewal

On the planet Mustafar, in a building now abandoned, on the floor of a deep room that was large and bare, laid the sprawled form of a young man. His face was pale, with starkly dark lashes closed over the white skin, and if anyone had been there to touch his cheek, they would have found it to be waxy and cold. But he was alone, very much so. For, despite the thousands of miles that stretched out across the burning surface of Mustafar, there was not a single living being on it now—there was only him.

For hours upon hours, he lay as he had done for hours and hours before. But then, so gradually that it was impossible to say when it actually happened, the faintest spots of color appeared on his dead cheeks. His chest, which until now had been still, slowly moved up and then down again. His eyelid flickered for a fraction of a second, and then, with a sick, rasping sound, the first breath he had taken in three days was drawn.

Almost immediately it was rejected, and his newly-awakened body shook with frightening spasms as he choked on the air. But the next breath came easier, and so did the one after that, until he was gulping them in. He did not open his eyes—he felt as a newborn must, jerked from his haven of safe, warm darkness and forced into this new world of cold, harsh light that burned through his eyelids and caused him pain.

He drew his knees up to his chest as he lay on his side, wincing with the sensitivity of a child as his skin scraped against the rough stone floor. Oh, he hated it, he hated this world! More than anything he wanted to go back, but somehow he could not shake the feeling that there was something he needed to do here that was very important. Maybe if he could remember what it was, and do it, then maybe he could return…

He blinked once, twice, slowly adjusting his eyes to the light. Whatever it was that he had to do, he knew it to be supremely urgent. He tried to push himself up into a sitting position, driven by a purpose that he did not remember, but his limbs were painfully, unnaturally stiff, and he collapsed, knocking his head against the floor. He let out a pitiful moan, but repeated the action. It was difficult, made more so by the fact that he seemed to be missing one of his hands.

For the moment, however, he ignored this fact. With what felt like a superhuman effort, he used his good arm to shove himself up in one swift motion. He sucked in his breath at the pain that shot through his muscles at this movement, but ignored this as well, choosing instead to hold his aching head in his hand.

As he did so, vague memories began floating back to him. In his conscious, he did not even notice them, but if he had chosen, he could have reached for one and known that it was true. Now, though, he only groped for the ones that were necessary. Distantly he recalled the reason he was here, the reason that his…his lightsaber was on the ground clutched in a fist that was his, and yet not his. Most difficult of all was to remember _why_ it was so difficult to remember, and he could not quite grasp that one yet, but he let it go. Right now, he knew, he had to get out of this place, and that was all that mattered.

Before anything else, he grabbed the lightsaber. No use trying to detach the hand—he left that as it was, and didn't even bother to deactivate the weapon. He just was certain, with a conviction that he could not attribute, that it would be folly of the greatest sort to leave this behind.

He knew it would be useless to stand, but he tried anyway, and immediately fell with a stifled cry of pain. _No, no,_ he told himself fiercely. _I have to get out._ He said it out loud. "No." The word felt strange and clumsy on his lips.

With a mixture of crawling and stumbling half-steps—if only his legs would work properly!—he made it to the door, the one that he had not yet walked through. With groping fingers, he managed to push the button, and the door slid open.

What met his eyes was discouraging, at best. He wanted to give up when he saw the long stretch before him, of hard, broken rock that was hot to the touch and molten streams that tossed angrily in their banks. But through the thick air, he could see a ship in the distance—his ship. Tears pricked his eyes, and they were not all from the smoke.

_Just go,_ he said sternly to himself. _Go now_.

"Go," he ordered out loud. Grabbing hold of the doorframe, he pulled himself to his unsteady feet, and took a first, shaking step out onto the blistered ground.

* * *

Ferus Olin sat at the table in his kitchen, absent-mindedly running a finger over the place where his braid had once been. He was worried; there was no denying it. There had been no word from Anakin since he had left for Mustafar over a week ago. Caught up in the excitement of being right, Ferus had momentarily forgotten the lesson that they had all learned during the Wars—of the danger which Grievous posed—and now he was finally remembering, with a very guilty feeling. What had he sent his best friend into? 

There was a knocking at his door, very faint. Distracted, Ferus did not stand.

"Come in," he called. When the door opened, to Ferus's amazement, it was Anakin who stood before him.

"What are you doing here?" was the first thing out of Ferus's mouth as he stood. Anakin, without replying, walked into the room and sank into a chair. Ferus did not move, but watched him, stunned. "What happened on Mustafar?"

Anakin looked as worn as a human being possibly could have. His face was wan and drawn; there were little ragged cuts all across his tunic, and his expression was one Ferus had never seen before, which inspired his friend to ask, a bit timidly, "Are you ok?"

Burying his face in his hand, Anakin did not answer for a moment, then looked up. "I'm fine," he answered. "I'm just tired."

"When was the last time you slept?" Ferus asked concernedly, sitting down across from Anakin.

"A couple minutes ago," Anakin answered wryly, "for about eighteen or twenty hours. I just landed."

Ferus felt quite confused, and it must have showed on his face, for Anakin smiled, a trace of his typical cocky amusement in the look. "Look, you remember when we were really little," he said, presumably beginning to explain, "and Master Yoda told us about Jedi that could make themselves look dead?"

"Ye-es," Ferus said slowly, comprehension beginning to dawn. "You're saying that you—"

"Well, I tried, anyway," Anakin cut him off. "Dooku had me by the throat—"

"Dooku?" Ferus repeated incredulously. "You fought Dooku?"

"Yes," Anakin said, with a hint of impatience in his voice. "Fought him, lost to him, almost got myself killed by him. Do you have anything to drink?"

Caught off-guard by the sudden change of topic, Ferus stood and grabbed some juma juice from the fridge droid. Anakin gulped down the dark blue liquid gratefully, wiped his mouth with the back of his sleeve, then continued without pause.

"I thought, if I could make myself look dead, he might leave me for dead, and then I could escape later once he'd left. Only…" His voice trailed off uncertainly as he gazed at something in the distance. "I keep thinking I can't have done it right—I don't think it was supposed to happen like that—"

"But you're not dead," Ferus pointed out, "so it must have gone right."

Anakin turned his gaze onto his friend very suddenly. "No," he said, quite simply. "No, I'm not dead, but I think I was."

Ferus blinked. "Run that by me again?"

"I—think—I—died," Anakin repeated slowly. There was a long pause.

"Anakin, _you're not dead_," Ferus pointed out, wondering perhaps if something on Mustafar had driven his friend mad. "Trust me. You're alive, right now, right?"

"Yes, but you don't understand!" Anakin insisted. "Ferus, I swear, I didn't do it right. I was supposed to just look dead, but I _was_ dead, and now I'm here, alive."

There was another very long pause, in which Ferus struggled between common sense and Anakin's steadily imploring gaze. Anakin played jokes, he kidded around, but he did not lie, and this was no joke. After a severe internal battle, he took a breath and said sincerely, "I believe you."

"Good," Anakin said, his voice emphatic.

"But—dead?" Ferus pressed incredulously. "_Dead_ dead. Are you sure?"

"You just said you believed me," Anakin complained.

"I do," Ferus said, "I just don't know yet what I'm supposed to believe."

Anakin took a breath. "Look," he said, "You know how it's supposed to work. You let go of life, hold onto the Force, and fall just so far into death that everyone thinks you're dead until you pull yourself out of it. But I couldn't pull myself out—not right away, at least—because I'd gone in too far." Ferus opened his mouth to speak, but Anakin plowed on. "Don't talk, I'm not finished. I didn't have the control I needed to keep myself at a safe distance, so I went in too deep and…got lost, I guess, would be the term I'm looking for. I died, technically, but because I was still holding onto the Force, I didn't _die_."

Ferus's eyes shut tightly for a minute or two, then opened again. "I think I've got it," he said, a bit uncertainly. "But Anakin, that's really…" He sat back in his chair, shaking his head. "That's unbelievable."

"You _said_ you believed me," Anakin repeated reproachfully.

"But you're ok, right?" Ferus said worriedly. "I mean…" His voice trailed off, but he didn't need to voice the words; Anakin already knew what he was thinking. It didn't seem right that one could simply stand up and walk off after such an ordeal without suffering aftereffects or symptoms or _something_. Anakin laughed quietly.

"That would probably depend on what you mean by 'ok'," he said dryly. "I think my head's about to explode, I've slept eighteen hours and I'm still dying to get to bed, and I can hardly move my legs. But other than that, yeah, I'm just great."

He didn't have to look up to know what expression Ferus's face bore. "Anakin, you've _got_ to go to the med ward," he stressed urgently. "There could be something really wrong with you after—after something like that…"

"There's nothing really wrong with me," Anakin said stubbornly, realizing a bit too late what he had gotten himself into. "I'll just get some sleep, and I'll be fine."

"I think you should go see a healer," Ferus persisted.

"No."

"What about Tanith? You like her."

"_No_."

"You _don't_ like Tanith?"

"Just healers in general," was Anakin's defensive excuse.

"Will you please come on?" Ferus pleaded. "Just to make sure."

Anakin shot him a very dirty look. "Fine," he grumbled. "But I won't like it."

Ferus spread his hands. "Hate it for all I care," he said. "That's your prerogative." He twitched a finger, and the door slid open. Anakin, standing, was careful to hide his missing hand in the folds of his robes. The last thing he needed was for Ferus to see _that_.

Four and a half minutes later, he was walking through the halls of the med ward; privately he admitted to himself that he probably did need this visit. Despite Anakin's flippant attitude, he was not as well as he might have wished. He could, at least, walk, but his steps were still shaky and his legs still stiff. Blood throbbed painfully somewhere in the back of his head, producing a very unpleasant feeling not unlike what he might have felt had someone been smacking him every few paces with a hammer.

Tanith, when at last they found her, was on her knees in the hallway, her arms filled with bottles, their contents still intact, which had been spilled onto the floor previous to their arrival. Upon their approaching, she looked up, a pleased smile on her face.

"Anakin!" she greeted him. Ferus she knew only in passing. "Where have you been?"

"Oh, you know, busy," Anakin said vaguely. Ferus, impatient, prodded him sharply through the Force, and Anakin hastily got to the point. "Anyway, I just got back from a mission, and I'm not—not feeling too well, and I was wondering if you could…maybe…"

Dusting her hands off, Tanith nodded cheerfully, anticipating his question. "Here," she said, opening the door nearest to her, stepping inside and gesturing for them to follow. "I don't think anyone needs this room for a while."

Anakin seated himself uncomfortably on one of the two chairs in the room; Ferus leaned against the wall, and Tanith went for the cupboards, pulling out a few basic instruments.

"So what did you do to yourself?" she asked.

Before Anakin could stop him Ferus said, with what sounded almost like glee, "He killed himself."

"He _what_ now?"

Anakin scowled fiercely at his friend, hoping to make evident on his face the physical equivalent of "Shut up".

"He tried to make another Force-sensitive think he was dead," Ferus continued, ruthlessly ignoring Anakin's looks. Tanith suddenly appeared very interested.

"I've heard of that," she said thoughtfully, holding what looked like a thick strip of white cloth up to Anakin's forehead for a moment. "My Master wanted me to learn it—he thought it would be useful, I suppose—but I never could quite get the hang of it. Hold still. Did you manage it?"

Anakin, occupied with wondering what she was doing to his head, could not think of an answer that didn't make him sound arrogant. Eventually, he just settled on the simple truth. "Yes," he said reluctantly. "But I messed it up all the same," he added, as a disclaimer.

Forgetting for a moment that he had been intent on tormenting Anakin, Ferus leaned forward, obviously intrigued. "Your Master taught you about that?" he asked. "I've never heard of a Padawan learning that sort of thing."

Tanith gave a little laugh. "I didn't really learn it," she pointed out. "It requires a fantastic connection to the Force, one that I just didn't have. But it really fascinated me; my Master told me all sorts of stories about that aspect of the Force." There was a small plasti-glass box on the counter, sitting on a metal platform. Into this she placed the white cloth and pushed a button on the platform without hesitating for a word. "If you do it right—and it would be unbelievably difficult, of course—it's even possible to pause yourself in time."

"What does that mean?" asked Ferus curiously. Tanith turned to face him, her hands on the counter behind her.

"If you could manage that," she said, and her eyes were glowing, "you could actually keep yourself from dying, because of course you don't age when you're dead. You could put yourself into a sort of hibernating state, and wake up a thousand years later—if you were that skilled. I don't know if anyone alive could do something like that."

Anakin saw an odd look flicker across Ferus's face for an instant. "But wouldn't everyone think they were dead, if they did something like that?" he asked slowly, and then, quickly veiling the question, he added another. "I mean, what if someone cremated the body?"

Anakin's heart sank, and he shut his eyes. _Don't,_ he begged his friend silently. He knew what Ferus meant, even if Tanith didn't. But it was just silly; he could not be spared pain that he had already gotten over.

Tanith was shaking her head. "No," she said, "and that's what so interesting. Another Force-user, someone completely detached from the person that did it, might only sense the lack of life. But even though there's no technical life, that person is still holding onto the Force, stronger than ever. So if you had any sort of bond with the person, you would know that they hadn't left the Force. And I'm sure that they would alert everyone to what they were doing, just in case."

The plasti-glass apparatus behind her made a soft beeping noise, and Tanith turned to look at the number that was being flashed across the platform's little screen. "Your temperature's normal," she told Anakin. "If you don't have a fever, the only thing I can suggest would be lots of rest."

Anakin shot a vicious look at Ferus, who shrugged, and then stood.

"Thanks, Tanith," he said. Ferus stood as well.

"It was nice talking to you," he said quickly as they walked out the door. Tanith only smiled, and then they had left. As they walked, Anakin took the opportunity to say what was foremost on his mind.

"I told you so."

"Well, I'm sorry that I was concerned about you," Ferus said, mock sincerity dripping from his words. "Next time, I won't take the trouble."

"Good," retorted Anakin. "Don't."

Ferus's only reply was an amused snort.

The headache had gone, for the time being. Anakin took a long, slow breath, waiting tensely for it to return, and when it didn't, he finally relaxed.

It was strange, he thought faintly; he was annoyed with Ferus, but glad as well that he was annoyed, that he _could_ be annoyed. It was real, and normal, and after the experiences over the past few days that had been so bizarre as to be dreamed up, Anakin was glad that such normalcy still existed.

They parted ways; Ferus went presumably to his room, and Anakin went to his. Somehow he did not feel quite so tired as he had before, but all the same, no sooner did his head touch the pillow of his sleep couch than he fell instantly into sleep. It seemed to him that he had never felt such peace.

* * *

Both Tanith and Anakin had been right; he did feel much better after getting some rest. When at last he opened his eyes, he could not have said for certain what time it was, but he felt as though he had slept for days. Sitting up, Anakin raised both hands to rub at his eyes, remembered again that one was missing, and made a mental note to get that replaced. 

He was about to go get that done immediately when he suddenly remembered that the Council had not yet heard how Mustafar had gone. In their position, he would have been worried, so Anakin supposed that he should probably go speak to them. He battled for a moment, wondering whether he should get his hand replaced first; then, weighing the two, decided that the former would probably take a lot less time. Without bothering to get changed, Anakin headed for the Council Chamber, assuming that at least one or two of its members would be there. It was rare that that room was entirely empty.

When he arrived at the Chamber, however, Anakin was surprised to see that a full-scale meeting had apparently just gotten out. The Jedi Masters were filing out of the room, all with very solemn looks upon their faces. Instantly changing his mind, Anakin made to walk away without being noticed.

But Windu saw him standing awkwardly by the wall, and his expression changed momentarily. He murmured something in Master Yoda's direction, and the little Jedi Master nodded, apparently giving his consent to something. With that, Windu motioned for Anakin to come forward. The other Masters, seeing this, paused where they were and waited silently.

"Master, did Ferus tell you?" Anakin asked immediately. Windu nodded, but before he could speak, Anakin kept going. "I couldn't find Grievous, I'm sorry, but Dooku was there, so Grievous must have been there! But Dooku's gone now, and I don't know where he—"

"Anakin," said Windu, looking almost amused as the rush of words, but no less serious, "There was no way you could have found Grievous on Mustafar."

Anakin blinked. "What?"

"I've just spoken with Master Yoda," Windu continued, "and he agrees with me. We think you should see this."

Windu led his former Padawan over to the doorway of the Council Chamber, which opened as they approached. Standing inside it, with Anakin beside him, Windu made the slightest gesture with his hand, and seemingly of its own accord, a hologram began to play in the projector in the center of the large room.

The recorded form that appeared was, to Anakin's surprise, Chancellor Amidala, sitting in a chair. Her robes were even less flamboyant than when she had been a senator, as Palpatine's had been; being Supreme Chancellor of the Galactic Republic was, apparently, a sobering task.

"Master Jedi," she said, "I have some news that I imagine will surprise you." Her voice was deceptively calm—Anakin could sense the tension behind it, the uneasiness that betrayed itself only in the nervous movements of her fingers. He wondered what it was that could perturb such an unusually strong woman. "I have recently—within the previous hour—received a message from General Grievous. He has requested a—a temporary armistice, of sorts. To be clearer, he has requested that we grant him a few hours time to speak with the Senate through a hologram."

Ah, so that was it. Anakin couldn't blame her; that sort of thing would have unnerved him as well. "After consulting with my advisors," Amidala continued, "I have decided to allow this. Peace is highly to be desired between our two factions, and it may be that peace is what he wishes to speak about. The Senate will assemble in an hour's time to hear what Grievous has to say; I thought it best to ask the Jedi Council to attend as well. Your wisdom and authority will certainly be of invaluable help in this matter."

Whatever she said following this was presumably of no importance, for it was here that the hologram shut off. Anakin stared at the place where it had been.

"Is she mad?" he choked out loudly, before he thought that whatever he said out loud would be heard by twelve of the most prestigious Masters in the Order. "Grievous—_peace_?"

"In a precarious position, the Republic is, Master Skywalker," said Yoda solemnly, coming up behind them as Anakin turned around. "Know this, you do. If another war should come, the only protection we will have, the Jedi will be. But continue making soldiers, the Separatists can."

Years of taking lessons from Yoda had trained every Jedi in the Order, Anakin included, to the Master's inverted tongue. He listened, perfectly comprehending what a civilian might have found unintelligible.

"Young, the Chancellor is," Master Yoda continued, shaking his head, "but foolish she is not. Knows, she does, the danger in which the Republic stands. If peace Grievous wants, the end of many serious problems, it will be."

Anakin wanted to say more—this seemed a very weak argument to him—but Windu looked at the chronometer up on the wall and made a gesture with his head that said, "We have to go." The rest of the Council, seeming to agree, began again to move toward the hangar.

"Are you going to the Senate meeting?" Anakin asked suddenly. Windu, who had made a move to leave, stopped and looked at Anakin, as though seeing him for the first time.

"Yes," he answered slowly, "and…I think now it would be best if you came as well."

* * *

And so it happened that Anakin found himself once again in the massive Senate Chamber, in which he had spent so many miserable hours. Unlike last time, however, he was not battling for his life, which was a small comfort. 

The rest of the Senate had already mostly congregated by the time the Council arrived. The atmosphere of the room was grave and very tense, doubly so for those who had actually fought against Grievous and knew what he was capable of. Hushed murmurs echoed around the room, all wondering the same thing, and waiting for when it would happen.

Anakin, his attention fixed on the worried Chancellor, was perhaps the only one who was aware of the sudden terrified jump that her heart gave, for she betrayed no outside sign. She had seen something, or heard something…but a second later, Anakin's curiosity was satisfied. Amidala had gotten some sort of warning as to the fact that Grievous would soon contact them.

The rest of the Senate was not so lucky, for the Chancellor hardly had time to register the fact—much less warn anyone else—when Grievous's hunched form, magnified to perhaps twice its normal size for convenience, appeared holographically in the center of the room. Everyone in the room gasped, but the noises were quickly stifled—the senators were nothing if not painstakingly tactful. In their business, you could start a war if you offended someone, and the reality of that fact had never been so clearly impressed upon their minds as it was now. Only the Jedi sat calmly, their eyes turning upward the only indication that they saw Grievous at all. Yoda leaned thoughtfully forward on his stick.

"Supreme Chancellor Amidala," Grievous greeted her, in that rasping, oddly robotic voice of his. It was very strange to hear that voice speaking so rationally—whenever Anakin had heard it before, it had always been growling death threats or shouting the order for battle. "I am grateful that you agreed to speak with me."

"Greetings, General Grievous," Amidala said, cordially but with a very stiff tone. Those words were all the pleasantry she afforded him. "I must admit, I am curious as to why you have asked me to call this assembly. If it is war you want, you need hardly ask our permission."

The General chuckled, but the sound quickly morphed into a harsh cough. "No, Chancellor, it is not war I seek. Quite the opposite, in fact."

"A truce, then." Amidala almost, but not quite, succeeded in keeping the hopefulness out of her voice. The rest of her, however, betrayed nothing at all—she stood ramrod straight.

"Not a truce, either," said Grievous, "but an alliance."

This still sounded promising, but there was a wariness in Amidala's eyes. "An alliance?" she repeated. "With whom?"

Grievous spread his droid hands out before him. "Chancellor," he said, "the Republic has won the war, but you have lost many battles. Several systems—names I can give if I must—have declined to return to your fold although the Separatist leaders have disbanded. They plan to strike out on their own."

"We will win them back," Amidala said confidently.

"You will not," replied Grievous, with just as much confidence. "They believe that the Republic is dying. This is not an opinion that I myself share, but regardless, they will not be persuaded otherwise."

"What, then, are you suggesting?"

"I suggest a new government," Grievous said abruptly, adding quickly, "Not to replace the current one, but to stand beside it. There would be not one ruling body in the universe, but two, each with its own leader and laws."

The murmurs had started again, shocked and startled and a bit panicked. A new government?—that was impossible—how could he suggest—it could never work—how could he even _think_—

Anakin's headache had gradually begun to reappear, sneaking up on him while he wasn't paying attention, and now it was throbbing agonizingly at his temples as his forehead creased. No one could have predicted this, and obviously no one had; the murmurs grew louder.

Amidala's face had gone white, but her voice when she spoke was clear. "And—why would the Republic agree to such a thing?" she asked, just as shaken as anyone else.

"Chancellor—" Grievous broke off for a moment to cough again "—I am afraid that regardless of whether they have your consent, the group of systems formerly known as the Separatists will no longer submit to your law. This government will inevitably be formed; would it not be better that you ally yourself with it?"

There was a long, pregnant pause. Again, Anakin could not help feeling sympathetic toward Amidala as she stood there, momentarily silent. This was too great a burden to be placed upon her slender shoulders. When at last she opened her mouth to reply, the room had gone deathly silent.

"In what ways would this government differ from the Republic?" asked Amidala. And Anakin knew, as did everyone else, that it was over.

He sank back into his chair with a silent groan, massaging his temples, listening with only half an ear as Grievous and Amidala battled with a careful respect between themselves. This new government would differ only slightly from the Republic, Grievous said; more than anything, it would fool those systems that were reluctant to rejoin the Republic into thinking that here was something new and different, when in reality it was more than anything an arm of the previously existing government.

Grievous seemed unusually acquiescent—to each of Amidala's doubts, he offered as answer exactly what she wanted to hear. Useless demands, disguised as questions, he bowed to without a single protestation. No, slavery would not be permitted—yes, he had to admit that it had been the general consensus that he himself lead the budding new government—yes, he would consult with Amidala in whatever she wished—certainly he would disband the Separatist army immediately and entirely—

This last one caught everyone by surprise, especially the Jedi. Until now, the entire thing had eerily resembled a trap, but without soldiers, what sort of trap could there be? Now it was only the Jedi who were on their guard—the rest of the room had allowed themselves to relax—and Anakin doubly so. He had battled Grievous, if indirectly, for far too long to think that the idea of peace could ever be found in that twisted mind.

When Grievous finished speaking, without warning Anakin stood. They were perched close enough to the Chancellor's dais that Grievous could see the action. Anakin sensed the surprise in Windu's mind from behind him, but found no uncertainty or anxiety directed toward himself. Windu trusted him to do what was best, and for that Anakin was grateful.

"General Grievous," he said loudly, so that his voice echoed. Grievous's eyes found his missing hand faster than Anakin would have liked; he hid it under his cloak and continued bravely. "You have, I presume, broken all ties with your former masters—the Separatist leaders—in order to make this proposal?"

"I could hardly do such a thing with their consent," said Grievous, in what was almost an amused tone.

"But what about your other masters?" Anakin questioned. "The Sith?"

Another gasp went around the room. Anakin's only thought in that direction was, _Oh, for Force sake, shut _up

"You are mistaken, young Jedi," said Grievous softly. "I am not, nor have I ever been, a pawn of the Sith."

"Master Skywalker, do you have evidence of this accusation?" asked Amidala sharply. All feelings of sympathy departed instantly—Anakin opened his mouth to tell her about the note, but even before he felt Windu's warning in his mind, he stopped himself.

To him and Ferus, that note had been perfect proof, but the Senate worked along somewhat different lines. Unless the flimsy he had found had written on it, "I, General Grievous, am currently working for the Order of the Sith, i.e., Palpatine and Count Dooku", it would not be taken as proof. Biting back these words—and a few more choice ones that Anakin was now dying to let loose in Amidala's direction for being so naïve—he shook his head, forcing a cocky smile onto his face.

"None, Chancellor," he said, sitting back down. Amidala watched him with some consternation in her face; she did not know whether he was serious, whether he had been testing Grievous, whether it had been a wild guess or a hunch. Let it bother her, Anakin thought bitterly. Stupid politicians…

"Master Jedi," Grievous said genially, still rasping the words, "I cannot deny that there was a time when I could safely be called an enemy of the Republic. But that was a time when another had say over my actions. If I was under the control of the Sith, I did not know it, and now that I control myself, I certainly am not under their rule."

Anakin nodded, never taking his eyes from Grievous's. It was strange, how much they seemed to have changed. He had seen them only inches from his face before and filled with malice, heard that voice snarling, "Jedi scum!" But now he sensed no deceit in Grievous, and he knew that the General was not Force-sensitive, and could therefore not hide such a thing. Could they have been wrong all along about him?

No, Anakin dismissed instantly. That was impossible. Ridiculous. And yet…

"I thank you for your time, General Grievous," said Amidala, breaking into Anakin's thoughts. "The matter will be discussed."

"That is all I ask," said Grievous, breaking for the last time into a hacking cough. The hologram flickered, and died.


	22. A Bargain Is Made

Amidala, anticipating the reaction, had her arms raised in a plea for silence even before the noise started.

"Please," she said loudly, "please listen to me!"

Gradually, the voices of indignation, the whispers of fear, quieted so that she could be heard without shouting. Even in a moment like this, she looked so serene, so immaculate, as though nothing in the universe had the power to ruffle her feathers. She looked, Anakin thought, rather like a doll, sitting demurely on a shelf, resignedly aware that she might be dashed to the floor in seconds.

"I will be the first to admit," Amidala said, "that I never imagined the need for a decision such as this would come. But it has, all the same, and it is not a decision I could consider making without hearing the opinions of everyone whom this decision will affect. Please, if you have something to say, then say it now."

At the front every hover-dais in this room, there was installed a little screen, raised at an angle so that it faced upward and was easily visible. Across this screen would flash the names of the senators that requested electronically to address the Senate, and the planet which they represented, and then the Supreme Chancellor would customarily give permission for them to speak. Predictably, as soon as these words left Amidala's mouth, that screen lit up, rapidly flashing name after name.

It seemed that every senator in the building had a very vehement opinion of this bizarre turn of events. Anakin hardly listened to a word they said; his mind was working furiously, trying to divine Grievous's possible motives for something like this. A cover, for something far more devious? But without his army, Grievous was powerless. No, that wasn't right; he had Dooku behind him, the might of the Sith.

One by one, the senators were permitted to come forward, figuratively speaking, and pour their thoughts into the general pool. Had Anakin been listening, he would not have been pleased with what he heard: the Senate could talk big, but it was cowardly at heart, and no one within it relished the idea of angering Grievous. Had Anakin looked behind him, he would have seen the Council murmuring amongst itself, coming to a conclusion of its own. But he was lost in his own muddled thoughts.

It was hours before anything conclusive happened again. When, at long last, the screen was blank, Amidala raised her hands once more. "Esteemed members of the Senate," she began softly, and there was nothing about her of the cool, ambitious politician that Anakin had always seen before. Her heart was pounding furiously and her palms were sweating as she made this enormous decision—or perhaps it was not so enormous after all, but who could tell when they were so startled, so off-balance? "You have all been heard; there is nothing more we can say. It is time for us to take a vote."

Despite being Force-sensitive, it was only now that Anakin finally understand what emotion it was that trembled through Amidala's heart, and somehow, it surprised him. _She's scared,_ he realized suddenly. _Terrified—for what? The Republic?_

Yes, and no wonder. From what scant information Anakin had gleaned from the broadcasts the day Amidala was elected Chancellor, he had learned that she had no family left. Her heart and soul and life had been given over entirely to this room, fighting furiously for what the room represented and the society that allowed it to remain. Whatever it took for the Republic to keep hold of peace, she would do, and if it meant that Amidala must ally herself with someone who, only days before, had been her most feared enemy—she would do it, willingly, _gladly_.

From behind him, Anakin sensed Master Yoda standing, moving toward the front of the dais with slow, limping steps, so that he could be seen. The room went silent; of all the Jedi Masters, Yoda was the most well-known, and the most respected.

"A part in this vote, the Jedi do not have," he conceded immediately. His voice was grave. "But urge you, the Council does, not to trust General Grievous. Dangerous, he is, and know it, you do. Forget this so soon, do not."

His eyes moved purposefully to look straight into Amidala's, and she matched his gaze with cold determination. With a nod that was almost imperceptible, Yoda reseated himself. Amidala proceeded to explain how the vote would work, although everyone already knew the procedure: a simple press of a button, Yes or No. A simple press of a button, and a galaxy's fate might be decided.

Senators debated with themselves, with their aides, with their neighbors, but all was hushed and tense, and eventually, each pressed one button or the other. The Jedi Council sat, stiff-backed and silent, showing nothing. Some time ago, Anakin would have been in direct contrast to this stolid complacency, fidgeting and pacing. It was a sign of how he had grown that now, the only thing that betrayed his nervousness was the thumbnail stuck firmly between his teeth.

Within an hour, all the votes had been counted. Anakin, until now fixated upon Amidala, turned away. He didn't want to see the emotion in her eyes, whether triumph or defeat. "The votes have been tallied," she said. "The Senate has spoken. The Republic will ally itself with General Grievous's government upon its creation."

Anakin bit his thumbnail off.

* * *

The short speeder trip from the Senate Chamber to the Temple was one that Anakin, in his own personal opinion, had made far too many times. This particular journey, made along with the entire Jedi Council, was uncomfortably silent and obviously grave. Each occupant of the closed speeder was thinking to themselves what this could mean. 

Windu, sitting beside his former Padawan, did not speak for the first few moments. At last, he asked, "Did you agree with the Council's decision?"

Anakin, roused unexpectedly from his fuming reverie, asked, "What?"

"Did you agree with the Council?" repeated Windu. "That it is unwise to trust Grievous."

"Of course," Anakin said, surprised that his Master could even ask. "Grievous is a monster!"

Windu nodded. "He is," he said quietly. "This was a disturbing time, in more ways than one."

"What do you mean?"

"I believe we have learned a few things about our new Supreme Chancellor today," said Windu softly. "Above all, that she will do things that no human being should do, or have to do, in order to accomplish what _she_ considers to be the ultimate good of the Republic."

Anakin frowned, receiving the impression that Windu was keeping something back. The Supreme Chancellor's vote carried more weight than any ordinary senator's, so in a way, Amidala was very much responsible for this decision—but that action, traitorous though it might have appeared to Anakin, did not seem to merit the description of something no human being should have to do.

Sensing his confusion, Windu looked at him. "I'm sorry, I thought you knew," he apologized. "You've heard, I presume, that Chancellor Amidala has no living family."

Anakin nodded.

"That is because, during the short Separatist occupation of Naboo, all of her family—mother, father, and sisters—were killed by Grievous's soldiers."

It took a moment for comprehension to dawn on Anakin's face, and when it did, it was swiftly replaced by revulsion. The games and sacrifices of politics were lost on him; he knew only that, had it been himself in that position, he would rather have killed himself than make the choice that Amidala had.

"You're right; no one should ever do a thing like that," Anakin muttered fervently. "She _is_ mad."

"Perhaps she is simply forgiving," suggested Windu. "She is accustomed to making sacrifices."

"No," Anakin said in a low voice, quiet conviction in his words as he sank lower into the plush seat. "Some people don't deserve to be forgiven."

"You forgave Karan Toi," Windu said. "Isn't that the same thing?"

The rest of the Council was silent, aware that they were witnessing an object lesson, as Anakin turned a hard look upon his former Master.

"I never forgave him," he said slowly. "I didn't kill him. There's a difference."

"You must have forgiven him, at least in part," Windu pointed out, "or you would have killed him."

"I'm not a murderer," Anakin said sharply. "Not anymore. But I never would have made a bargain with scum like that, no matter what was at stake. Nothing's worth that."

Having said his bit, Anakin straightened and did not speak again until they reached the Temple. He wished Windu hadn't reminded him of Obi-Wan.

* * *

As soon as they got back, the first thing Anakin did was head straight back to the med ward. He didn't see Tanith, but that was all right because he wasn't looking for her. Instead, he walked around until he found an unoccupied med droid, and showed it his severed hand, its wires poking out from under his sleeve grotesquely. He was determined to get that little problem rectified as soon as possible. 

When he returned to his room, Anakin dug through his closet until he found another glove and slipped it over his hand. He didn't like the cold feel of the metal, the gleaming color that substituted for skin, and the glove allowed people to think that he was still whole. Of course, no one actually did—all the Jedi, at least, knew why he only wore the black glove on his right arm—but the illusion comforted him.

Having returned to normal, Anakin found his datapad on his dresser and fiddled with it for a few moments, trying to convince it to pick up another news channel. Funny how he was so interested in the news all of a sudden, he thought dimly as he flipped through the static. Wait, wait, that had been a picture—!

"—history of the Republic has something of this magnitude occurred," said the blonde anchorwoman, surprise in her tone. "Many senators have refused to comment, but the Supreme Chancellor herself welcomed questions."

The screen flipped to Amidala. Anakin grimaced at the image, watching it justify the deed she had done with promises and pledges. How could she have experienced Grievous's evil firsthand and yet still be so trusting? Grievous would never offer peace—_surrender_, as it had effectively been—without having first exhausted every soldier as his disposal.

"The time for war has passed," Amidala was saying. "We must lay down our weapons and make peace with the other half of this galaxy."

Anakin snorted; if the Republic actually _had_ any weapons to lay down, this decision need never have been made at all. Desperation had driven them to this. He wanted to watch more, but just then the screen faded back into blue and white static, and no matter how Anakin tried to retrieve the image, he found nothing. It turned out to be impeccable timing, however, for just as he tossed the datapad onto his bed in disgust, he heard a knock from the other room.

Standing, he went to answer it. To his surprise, the person he saw when the door opened was one that he did not know by name. It was a woman, perhaps thirty years old, with long black hair that streamed carelessly down her back and brown skin that matched her outer robes.

"Anakin Skywalker?" she inquired. Anakin, dumbfounded, nodded. "I'm Master Brun."

Something clicked in Anakin's mind. "Drin's Master?" he hazarded. The woman nodded, looking pleased. Stepping aside, he allowed her to enter, assuming that was what she wanted. Confidently, she took a seat on his couch.

"Um, can I help you?" Anakin asked, a bit bewildered. She smiled up at him.

"Drin told me about how you saved his life," Master Brun said. "I'm very grateful to you for that."

"Oh, of course," he said. "I mean, thank you."

"I've come to ask you a favor," she said, hugging her hands between her knees. "I've been looking for someone to tutor Drin—more just to cement his studies with me than anything else—and Master Windu suggested that you might be willing to try it."

Anakin blinked. "You want me to teach him?" he asked, dumbfounded. "I don't—I don't think I'd be very good at it, Master Brun."

"Oh, I'm sure you'd be fine," she said dismissively. "You are the Chosen One, after all. You're closer to his age than I am, and you're male, which makes it easier for him to connect with you. And Drin already trusts you."

Anakin bit his lip. "Master Windu said I should do it?" he repeated. Master Brun nodded.

"You needn't do it for very long, if it gets to be too much trouble," she said. "I know how busy you must be. But Master Windu seemed to think it would be good for you."

"Good for me?" Anakin echoed. She shrugged vaguely.

"Just for an hour or so a day," she said. "He's not doing so well in his classes, I'm afraid. Drin's very bright, but only when he chooses to be. Most of the time he just plays around with his friends when he should be listening to his teacher, and I've tried to speak with him about it." A distressed look flickered over Master Brun's face. "He's not willful, really—just lazy. He doesn't care much, and I don't offer much incentive, I'm afraid. But with someone like you, he might become more interested in his studies."

Anakin was caught, feeling flattered for something that was out of his control, and at the same time wondering why the krif Windu had supposed that this sort of thing might be _good_ for him.

"Well, I could try it," he offered awkwardly, sitting down. "Like I said, I don't know how good a job I'd do—I don't have much experience in this sort of thing—but I can try."

Master Brun flashed him another warm smile. "That would be wonderful," she said. "I appreciate it very much." She stood up, and Anakin, who had just gotten seated, stood as well.

"You wouldn't need to teach him anything complicated, of course," she explained. "Just, you know, reiterate, what he's already being taught." Her eyes flicked to the chronometer on Anakin's wall. "I'm very sorry to leave you so soon, but I've got to see the Council about something. Will you excuse me?"

Anakin, caught off guard, muttered some empty pleasantry, and she was gone almost instantly. He would have liked to confront Windu about this, but if Master Brun had the Council's attention, then his former Master most likely wouldn't be free for a while. Instead, sick to death of politics and sitting still, he went off to run sims.

It was possible to do this in his room, but with a very limited selection, and the experience always had the feel of an ordinary holo-game rather than a virtual reality. All the training sims were downstairs on the first floor; there were probably a hundred or so of the small rooms which held all the best equipment, and it was these rooms that afforded the best sim practice possible. All you had to do was pick a room, select which sort of sims you wanted, and jump in.

Ordinarily, Anakin's lineup in this situation consisted of just about every sort of sim there was. The only kind he'd never really liked were the ones in which you were allowed no weapons, but only the Force. Not only did he find them vaguely boring, but he had never been very good at them either, and that bothered him.

Today, though, he decided to give one of them a try. He then added a couple pilot sims at the finish, which were always his favorite, and ten—no, fifteen, he decided, remembering with a blush his disastrous fight with Count Dooku—hand-to-hand combat situations. He then programmed the set to play end to end, put on the helmet which allowed him to see the sim, and began the first one.

He was standing in a darkened room—Anakin's eyes automatically began to pick out shadows he could use to his advantage—apparently alone. There was a staircase in the middle of the floor, leading down to somewhere that wasn't included in the sim; he could use that, too. No sooner had he adjusted himself to this false reality, however, when a large man burst out of his peripheral vision, brandishing a vibroaxe.

Immediately, Anakin groped for the lightsaber on his belt, and when the man came toward him, bellowing like an ox, Anakin sidestepped him easily. Furious, the man charged again, but he had no technique, only brute force. Within moments, the sim was over.

_Well, that was easy,_ he thought. But very quickly—too quickly, Anakin thought worriedly—his successive opponents got much more difficult. They had never been this hard before, had they? Surely he'd beaten this sim before, in much less time.

The Sithess before him crouched down, ready to spring. She was lithe and agile, a difficult target. Not once did Anakin take his eyes off her, but all the same, she was too quick for him. With a yowl of anger, she flew forward and slammed her lightsaber into his arm.

It was his right arm, which meant that normally he couldn't feel pain in it, but the sim didn't know that. As though he were having it severed all over again, he felt that sudden awful, sudden sensation, the realization that he had messed up terribly but he couldn't really figure out why…and then when the pain hit, and he saw his arm lying on the ground in front of him, he remembered really fast.

No actual damage could be done to the body when you were in a sim, but the synthetic pain hurt just as badly as the real stuff. With a cry, Anakin tore the helmet from his head and threw it to the ground. Instantly, the pain ceased.

Breathless, Anakin sank down to one knee, licking his lips and unthinkingly cradling his newfound right limb in his left. He _had_ beaten that Sithess before, seen her dead at his feet before the sim ended. He remembered, because he had bragged to Obi-Wan later that if the Sith were that easy to fight, they ought to have been exterminated long ago.

He felt a presence moving toward the door behind him, just before it opened and he heard a voice say, "Anakin?" He turned, still on his knees, to see Siri standing there, an expression of concern on her face.

"Are you all right?" she asked. "I heard you scream."

Grasping for the last shreds of his dignity, Anakin said stiffly, "I did not scream."

"Yes, you did," Siri said amusedly. "I heard you. What happened?"

There was a moment of silence, in which Anakin's pride and his desperation waged war upon each other. In a relatively short time, however, desperation struck the fatal blow, and Anakin stood.

"I can't fight anymore," he said miserably.

Siri, not expecting a revelation of this sort, said, "_What?_"

"I can't fight!" Anakin repeated, a note of that desperation creeping into his voice. "I really can't. I only beat Palpatine because I got lucky; I didn't even last two minutes against Dooku—"

"You fought Count Dooku?" Siri broke in, sounded astonished.

"—and now I can't even survive against the kriffing sims!" Anakin finished, with a wretched sort of triumph. He gazed at her helplessly. "What's wrong with me?"

Siri sighed, but she didn't sound unhappy, as the action might have implied. "Well, obviously I can't walk away from this one," she said. "C'mere."

Anakin followed obediently as she led him out of the sim room and sat him down on a bench that stood against the wall. Sitting down next to him, she said, "All right, so you can't fight. Have you been practicing?"

He opened his mouth to answer vehemently in the affirmative, but stopped. Of course he had been practicing—hadn't he? But it had become such a matter of course that he spend the greater part of his day training that he had naturally assumed that he had done it, when in fact he had not. Feeling very embarrassed, Anakin thought back. Force, he hadn't physically trained for more than a few hours since…since after that night with Palpatine. Instead, he'd been using all his time to meditate, knowing how deficient he was in that area.

His silence answered for him. Siri bit her lip, unsuccessfully trying to hide a smile.

"Anakin, you're going to have to learn to balance the two of them," she admonished him gently. "Look, when Obi-Wan was alive, you didn't bother with your meditation because you had enough Force-skills to get by with, and you could lean on him for the things you didn't know. When he died, you started dedicating all your time to meditation, partly out of guilt and partly because you wanted Obi-Wan to be proud of you. You've been neglecting your physical studies almost on purpose, and that's sent you into a dip."

Anakin was gaping at her. "How—"

"Ferus was my Padawan, remember?" Siri said, grinning. "And he talks about you a lot."

Anakin muttered something under his breath that was not complimentary.

"Anyway, all I'm saying is that you have to use both," she concluded. "And have a little more faith in yourself. Fighting Sith Lords isn't about winning—it's about surviving."

Having finished with the deep talk, Siri leaned forward. "So, back on topic," she said, "You fought Dooku?"

Briefly, Anakin sketched out what had happened to him since leaving for Mustafar, with as few details as he had given the Council, although this time, he added the part about the vote.

Siri's face turned grave when she heard this. "Grievous can't be trusted," she said firmly. "Amidala's too willing to believe the best in people."

"I don't think so," Anakin contradicted. "She knows what Grievous can do; she just…doesn't care, I guess. She thinks he's actually interested in burying the hatchet."

Siri gave a sharp shake of her blonde head. "Only a senator would believe something so idiotic," she muttered. "Whatever Grievous wanted, she should have done the opposite."

"You think it's something very serious, then?" Anakin asked, standing in preparation to leave. Siri fixed him with a look.

"Whether or not Grievous has an army," she said deliberately, "I believe he has something up his sleeve. If he disbands his army, it's because _he_ wants to, and because he won't need it any longer—not because some grown-up child in a dress wants him to. That thing does nothing without a reason; you know that as well as I do, Anakin."


	23. The Quieter Life

That night was not a good one. Every time Anakin tried to close his eyes, he saw before them Grievous' thin and twisted body, that long droid face that was impossible to read. What was hidden behind it? Not peace, surely not peace, but then what else could Grievous possibly accomplish by this? The uncertainty would drive him insane…

When at last he awoke, Anakin still felt very tired despite several hours of sleep under his belt. Groaning, he sank his head into his hands, despising Grievous fervently. Something tugged at the back of his mind, something unpleasant, but he let it slide for now. It was only after he had taken a shower, pulled on the heavy Jedi robes, and clipped his lightsaber onto his belt that he remembered that today was his first day of tutoring.

Immediately as he remembered, questions bubbled to the surface of Anakin's thoughts, faster than he could answer them. Would he get along with Drin? Would the boy listen to him? Would Master Brun bring Drin to Anakin's room, or was Anakin supposed to go over there? What exactly was he supposed to teach Drin, anyway? He had only been a Knight for a few months now; was he even qualified to be a tutor? And whose dumb idea had this been, anyway?

It didn't appear that any of these questions were to be answered anytime soon, however, so Anakin stifled them for the moment and went to see if he had anything edible left in his fridge droid.

Until recently, his meals had usually consisted of whatever Obi-Wan was cooking, with occasional deviations into the mess hall and Anakin's stash of protein cubes. But since being deprived of his main source of food, Anakin had been forced to learn to cook himself. It was a messy task, and more than once he had given up, thrown his blackened creation into the trash and headed for the mess hall. But slowly, he was starting to get the hang of it. He was no gourmet, but he could at least fry an egg, which was what he did now.

At about 1000 hours, he heard the inevitable knock on his door. Opening it, Anakin found Drin and Master Brun standing before him. Master Brun's face was inscrutable; Drin's only looked peeved.

"You go back to your room when you're finished, all right?" Master Brun said to her Padawan, who only shrugged. Ignoring this, she handed a datapad to Anakin and said, "That's got most of his homework on it. Just go over the things he doesn't understand." Anakin nodded, took it, and Master Brun left the two of them alone. There was a silence.

"So, what are you learning in your classes?" Anakin asked finally, hoping to break the ice a bit. Drin only shrugged again, and when Anakin was clearly expecting more of an answer than that, he said, "Stuff about the Jedi Code. Mostly."

"What about physical training?"

"Some of that, too."

"Do they teach you to work with the Force?"

"Yeah, sometimes."

Gradually, the feeling crept over Anakin that he was beating his head against a brick wall. After offering Drin something to eat or drink—both were declined—he sat down at the wooden table and motioned for Drin to do the same. Turning on the datapad, he looked through the list of homework subjects that were listed on the screen. Language Studies, Force-working, Lightsaber Training, Galactography… Anakin remembered these subjects well from his former days as a Padawan. He selected one at random and looked at the assignment.

"All right, so what do you want to work on?" Anakin asked, looking up. He was bewildered by what seemed to be this sudden iciness. Drin hadn't exactly been a model of politeness last time they'd met, but he'd at least been decent—and after all, Anakin thought annoyedly, he _had_ saved the kid's life.

"Mm-mm," was what came out of Drin's mouth, which probably could have meant anything, but sounded most like "I don't know", and Anakin's heart sank at the thought that every lesson might be like this.

"What about Galactography?" he suggested, selecting the assignment on the datapad. "It says you have to make a map of the Core planets. Want to try that?"

It was the easiest way out; Drin agreed. For the remainder of the hour the two Jedi could be found sitting side by side, Drin sketching out the location of the planets, their names, and their capitals while Anakin occasionally pointed out helpful tips, like the fact that Alderaan was spelled with three "A's" and not two, or that the letter "Y" was nowhere to be found in the name of Abregado-Rae. The scene was deceptively peaceful, but at least the boy was cooperating.

* * *

After a few weeks, Anakin's relationship with Drin took on a certain understanding. Once he got over the awkwardness of it all, Anakin managed to be quite a decent teacher, and even caught himself enjoying it on a few occasions. Drin, for his part, would do what he was told, but moodily and without enthusiasm. His driving force was not a thirst for knowledge and a hunger for learning, but rather the certainty that if he misbehaved, his Master would throw him in detention for a month.

On some subjects, Drin seemed less reluctant than others; he enjoyed moving things about with the Force, and there were few activities he liked better than lightsaber training. But should Anakin attempt to move back into the world of academics, Drin immediately clammed up, turned sullen and brooding, and hardly bothered to answer Anakin's questions at all. It was times like this that got Anakin so frustrated that he wanted to grab the fourteen-year-old boy by the shoulders and shake him until his teeth rattled.

There were several factors that contributed to Drin's complex attitude toward Anakin, very few of which Anakin actually realized. First, there was the problem that Anakin had saved Drin's life, which, on the one hand, was certainly a positive thing. The downside of it was that Drin was in Anakin's debt for it, and this bothered him.

Master Brun had been right in saying that Drin trusted Anakin—in fact, would do so with his life if ever necessary—and under different circumstances they might have gotten along quite nicely. But Anakin had been put in a position of authority over Drin, making himself an easy target for resentment, at the exact age when Drin was beginning to dislike authority very much. Just when he was beginning to think for himself, he did not appreciate someone only a little older than he telling him what to do. He liked Anakin while Anakin stood on his own—but as a teacher, as the Chosen One, someone supposedly wiser and more experienced than he, Drin did not like him at all.

Anakin, of course, knew nothing of this. He only knew that Drin could be extremely stubborn when he chose to be. One day, after struggling for fifteen minutes with Drin to get him to do a simple arithmetic problem, Anakin suddenly decided that they needed a change of scenery. It couldn't hurt, and at the very least, he might stop subconsciously associating his kitchen table with an hour's worth of frustration.

So he took his pupil to the Room of a Thousand Fountains. In the past, this room, filled with the sound of cold water rushing over smooth stone, had been a source of great comfort to Anakin, and he had found that his thoughts were clearer here, as well. He wasn't the only one, either; at any hour of the day, there would always be at least one Jedi in this massive room, seeking respite from the rest of the galaxy. He didn't know what effect it might have on Drin, but it could only be positive.

Selecting a fountain at random—a large one, at least sixteen feet high—Anakin sat down on its wide rim and motioned for Drin to sit beside him. The boy did so, but he seemed distracted. Nearby, a small bunch of girls and boys about Drin's age were laughing loudly at some unknown joke, splashing each other lightly. Anakin could sense the longing behind the quick look Drin shot them,

They were both sick of mathematics by this time; Anakin searched his mind for another topic. "Did you study those excerpts of the Code like you were supposed to?" he asked. Drin nodded; Anakin didn't believe him. "Ok, let's hear them."

Caught off guard, Drin looked startled as he fumbled for the words. "Um…" he began shakily. "There—there is no emotion; there is…"

"Peace," Anakin filled in.

"Right." Drin was obviously racking his brain. He cast another look, this one more anxious, at the group of youths only a few yards away from them. Anakin felt faintly amused; was he worried about looking stupid in front of his friends? "There is no…um…passion—no, wait, that's not it—"

Why was Drin so anxious? None of the other children were even looking at him—well, except for one of the girls. Her eyes were continually flicking from her friends to Drin, and then back again. Drin was doing the same thing, but always at the times when her head was down, so they kept missing each other. Anakin, suddenly struck with a powerful urge to laugh, swallowed it down with a great effort. Drin had a _crush_.

"You know, it's written right above the Council door," Anakin said with a grin, with a bit more volume than was necessary. "Not that difficult to remember."

Drin shot him a look that was at once pleading and scowling.

"I can say it louder," Anakin threatened in a low voice.

"That's not fair!" Drin hissed.

The girl was looking away again, apparently very disdainful of the fact that Drin could hardly remember the most basic teaching of the Jedi Code. At the last second, Anakin took pity on him.

"Ok, tell me the seven lightsaber forms," he said. Drin, with an expression of gratitude, immediately began rattling off what he knew by heart, and Anakin saw the girl flash Drin a smile before she walked away.

Lessons began to go more smoothly after that.

* * *

To Anakin, it seemed as though he had been struggling against a viciously stubborn current for weeks on end, and now finally it had relaxed. Drin still seemed to have it coded into his DNA that he resist everything he was taught, but he did it with much less force now, partly out of appreciation and partly because he knew Anakin could easily embarrass him in front of his friends.

As for Anakin himself, he found the slow, steady rhythm of Temple life almost beautiful in contrast to the unnervingly fast-paced missions he remembered, the terrifying knowledge that this breath he was taking now might be his last. The thought occurred to him with a start as he sat, one day, sitting opposite from Drin in their normal places at his kitchen table, that he had never taken the time to realize that before.

Anakin had always loved the Temple, for the people in it and for the building itself, but always before he had ached for the next time that he and Obi-Wan would race off to save some far-off planet. When, Anakin wondered distantly, had he stopped living for that next rush of adrenaline?

"There," said Drin, pushing his datapad over to Anakin's side of the table and inadvertently jerking his teacher out of his thoughts. Distracted, Anakin pulled it to him and looked over the work. It was well done, with only a few mistakes; Drin's grades had begun to improve, not dramatically, but steadily, and Anakin actually felt proud of his pupil for that.

"Ok, great," he told Drin, handing the datapad back. "What else do you have for today?"

Drin's eyes rolled upward as he thought. "Uh…just Basic Mechanics, I think. Master Ti gave us all parts of mouse droids, and we were supposed to put them back together. It's due tomorrow."

Anakin gave him a look. "And you haven't done any of it, have you?"

"I don't know why you like that stuff!" Drin complained by way of excuse. "It doesn't make any sense."

"It makes perfect sense," Anakin retorted. "That's why I like it."

"Does not," was Drin's witty response. "Anyway, yeah, I need help on that."

Anakin shrugged. "All right, fine. Where are the parts?"

"In my room," Drin said. "Can we work on it in there? I don't want to carry them all the way over here."

Anakin acquiesced, and allowed himself to be led out of the apartment. He had not yet been to Drin's room, and didn't know the way. Drin guided him through the halls, putting on the faintest swagger when they passed that same girl—Aviva, Anakin had learned her name was—and Anakin bit back a grin. He knew he shouldn't encourage such a thing, but after all, surely every Jedi had had a crush at one point or another.

Without a word, Drin turned off into a room, and Anakin blindly followed him through the door. The sight that greeted his eyes was not a particularly outstanding one—a bit messier than most Jedi rooms, perhaps—but still, something about it caused Anakin to hesitate as he stepped into it. He was struck with a sensation of something so familiar that Anakin could not believe he couldn't remember what it was.

"I think the parts are in my bedroom," said Drin, picking his way around the couch. "I'll go get them."

"Hey," Anakin said suddenly, "How long have you been here?"

Drin paused, confused, and turned to face Anakin. "What, you mean, in the Temple?"

Anakin shook his head impatiently. "No, no, I mean in this set of rooms."

"I don't know. A year, maybe. I used to have one that was a lot farther away from my Master, but then this one opened up, so she moved me in here. Why?"

Biting his lip, Anakin said, "Nothing. It doesn't matter."

Drin shrugged carelessly and vanished into the next room; Anakin turned in a slow circle, taking in the room all over again. A smile twisted a corner of his mouth. Of all the unlikely coincidences, of all the bewildering turns of fate, how had _this_ come to pass?

"Here," said Drin, reemerging from his bedroom, his hands full of parts. "I think I've got them all, but if we're missing a few, they're probably under my dresser."

With a grin, Anakin cleared a place amidst the knick-knacks strewn across the ground, and Drin placed the parts down there. For the next two hours, they sat side by side, heads bent as they worked together, upon what had once been Obi-Wan's floor.


	24. Writings

Anakin had taken to watching the news lately, whenever he got a spare moment. Most of the time, it was local stuff—speeder crashes, fires, the mugging of a semi-important official on Level 7 and the investigation of what exactly he was doing there in the first place—but every so often, Grievous's name would appear. It was these instances that Anakin waited for.

"General Grievous, leader of the newly-formed New Alliance, today announced the location of his capital. Several close associates of the General made this statement to the press—"

They varied on occasion, but there were always two things that one could count on about them. One was that the news always referred to him as "General"—perhaps out of habit—even though the body that had given him the title was now labeled as criminal and the troops he had once commanded were gone.

The other, more significant, was that Grievous never made any of these famous statements to the press himself. In fact, he was rarely even seen in public. This Anakin could understand—from a purely political standpoint, if your heart could be seen beating while you walked around on an average day, it probably wouldn't endear you to the public.

"Today, General Grievous's aides spoke again to the press, this time announcing the instigation of several new laws that will greatly affect the recently-formed New Alliance, as well as the establishment of the New Alliance Senate."

Essentially what Grievous had done was pirate everything that worked about the current Republic and get rid of the rest. The New Alliance Senate was not, as was the Republic's, a congregation of one representative from every planet under Republic control. While that system might have worked once upon a time, now it certainly did not, and Grievous was wise enough to see it. Instead, he created a group, made up of seven representatives from the seven most influential planets in the New Alliance, including Geonosis, and in this group Grievous made eight.

In theory, Anakin had to admit, it was a good idea, with the potential to become greater than the current Republic—but he still did not trust Grievous, nor, Anakin knew, did the Council, though they never said it in so many words. It was one thing for the senators to proclaim blandly that Grievous had turned from his old ways—it was something entirely different for those who had fought against him, and knew what he was capable of, to believe such a thing.

But after months of waiting for Grievous to do something evil and traitorous, and these expectations never being fulfilled, it grew easier for everyone to relax. There still remained a foreboding cloud of political tension—Jedi were so closely connected to the Senate, yet not involved with it in the slightest, so it was nerve-racking when they did something like this—but everyone did their best to forget about it, and after a while, the cloud seemed to clear.

Anakin's world, in the meantime, was much smaller than republics and star systems. Once he had viewed his time on missions as his life, while being at the Temple was simply 'in between'. Now missions were more of an inconvenience than they had ever been before, and although he did his utmost to fulfill them, Anakin was always glad when he could return home.

Drin, though he would never have admitted it, was glad too. His time spent with Anakin had gradually and unofficially increased over the past few months, until he was spending almost as much time with his tutor as he did with his own Master. Through Drin, Anakin had almost begun to relive his Padawan years, experiencing secondhand once again every triumph and disappointment that he remembered from long ago.

In this capacity, he couldn't help but be sympathetic to his student's plight. When Drin's fifteenth birthday came around, Anakin took the opportunity to release his pupil from all of his schoolwork for the day. Well, almost all—Drin had neglected to do his research for a paper on the culture and ecosystem of Corellia that was due the very next day, and Anakin refused to let him off. On the promise that as soon as he had finished, they could leave, Drin agreed to finish his research in the library.

The long, sweeping Temple library, richly carpeted, almost seemed to glow with a warmth of its own each day as the sun shone its thick golden rays into every corner. Busts of famed Jedi Masters stood in perfect rows, data computers lined up against the wall, dozens and dozens of shelves were filled with holo-books, standing in the middle of the room. The sensation it provided inevitably gave Anakin a sense of peace, and he enjoyed seeing the contrast played out: the cold, white, severe stone of the Temple itself against the welcoming softness of the sunlight.

They went to the first empty computer they saw, both grabbing a chair, and then Drin punched in the letters "C-o-r-e-l-l-i-a". The screen zoomed in to show a dark-colored planet, streaked with brown, and a woman's voice began reciting important facts and statistics. Corellia's capital was Na Lidada, a Huttese phrase meaning "beautiful city". Smuggling off Corellia had long been a problem for Galactic officials, but now, of course, they were cracking down on this illegal trade. (As though the computer would say anything else, Anakin thought dryly.) Some of Corellia's main exports were—

It was then Anakin noticed that, while this was all terribly useful information and exactly the sort of thing Drin needed to know for his paper, he wasn't writing down a word of it. Instead, his attention had been firmly fixed on two girls that sat at a table on the other side of the room, alternately chattering animatedly and poring over a holo-book. Anakin groaned inwardly—one of them was Aviva.

He sighed, this time out loud. "All right, Drin, we need to talk," he said. Drin looked at him warily—every young person, no matter their age or status, knew what that meant.

"What about?"

Anakin tipped his chin toward the girls. "Her."

Immediately, Drin got defensive. "What about Aviva?" he demanded, a slow flush creeping over his cheeks. A couple seconds too late, Anakin realized how difficult this was going to be.

"Look," he said finally, "There's nothing wrong with liking a girl. I've done it, I know."

"Really?"

"Yes, but that's not the point."

"Was it someone I know?"

"I _said_ that's not the point." He blew air out of his mouth. "There's nothing wrong with it, but you're a Jedi. There's a limit to how far you can take it."

Drin scowled. "I haven't taken it anywhere," he protested sullenly. "We talk; that's all."

"But you're distracted," Anakin pointed out. "You're paying attention to her when you should be concentrating on other things."

"Just because this is boring!"

"_Look_," he repeated emphatically, "I know you've had this drilled into your head from day one. I know you're sick of it, and I really can't blame you, but it's true all the same. There's a reason the Council enforces it."

The noise Drin made suggested that the Council did not hold a place of high esteem on these matters in his eyes. Anakin, however, was in no mood to joke.

"I'm serious," he said. "Attachment is dangerous. If you get really involved with someone, you stand to lose everything."

"Everything?" Drin scoffed.

"Will you shut up? I'm trying to make a point here!"

It was a sign of Drin's increased respect for Anakin, despite his best efforts to hide it, that he bit his lip and muttered something that might have been, "Sorry".

Anakin sighed. "There's a reason Jedi aren't supposed to love. The more you care about someone, the more you're willing to sacrifice, even if that sacrifice doesn't make sense. There are Jedi who've actually left the Order because they let themselves fall in love. And you've heard of Thru Hakun, right?"

Drin's expression was uncertain. "A little bit. I think one of my teachers might have mentioned him once."

"He was one of the Twenty. He turned to the Dark Side," Anakin said bluntly. "He thought it would help him better protect his birth family, and he died for it."

Leaning back in his chair, Drin met Anakin's gaze. He looked faintly insolent—that was usual—but serious as well, and perhaps a bit guilty, although that might have been Anakin's imagination.

"I've got no plans for turning to the Dark Side," said Drin.

"Just don't say I didn't warn you." Wondering if the past three minutes had taught his pupil anything at all, Anakin tapped the screen of the computer, which was blithely still reciting its statistics. "For now, just listen and take notes, like you're supposed to."

Perhaps Drin hadn't taken any of it to heart, but he was at least sufficiently cowed to ignore Aviva for the remainder of the computer's narrative. For this Anakin was thankful—he didn't have the opportunity to monitor Drin every second they were in here, for a few minutes after the end of their conversation, Anakin saw a shadow fall across the monitor, and turned to see the white-haired Master Jocasta Nu standing behind him.

"I hope you don't mind, Master Skywalker," she said apologetically. "If you have the time, I'd like to ask you a couple questions for the database."

"Of course," Anakin conceded, confused. "But I can't think of anything I would know that the Jedi database wouldn't."

"I'd heard you were one of the first on Ryloth after the tragedy there," explained Master Nu. "The official reports have all been entered, of course, but our databases might also benefit from your personal experience."

"Oh—of course," Anakin said again. He stood and walked with her over to an empty table. Master Nu seated herself beside him, moving her chair away from the table to face him. With swift preciseness she took out a datapad and, pressing a button on its side, placed it on the table between them. Anakin presumed it would be recording him; Master Nu's zeal for the collection of knowledge was one that had been almost legendary in the Temple since even before he had become a Padawan.

"Now," she said matter-of-factly, "please tell me exactly what happened when you arrived on Ryloth."

Anakin had to think a moment; it had not exactly been a topic foremost in his mind. "The four of us—I mean myself, Master Tachi, Master Thren, and, err…a healer named Tanith—we landed, and the first thing I saw was smoke over the trees. They'd set the entire place on fire…"

He related the entire episode, every once in a while repeating a part in greater detail when Master Nu was not satisfied. When at last he had finished, the librarian nodded, appearing pleased.

"Thank you very much, Master Skywalker," she said, but Anakin's attention had been distracted by something over her shoulder.

"Is that—?" he began. Master Nu smiled.

"Indeed it is," she said, rising and moving toward the glass case that stood behind her. It contained the Sith lightsaber, which Anakin had not seen for quite some time. Anakin followed her, gazing at the weapon. It looked quite harmless here, sitting innocently on plush purple cloth behind spotless plastiglass.

"Did you ever find out what the hilt said?" Anakin asked. Jocasta Nu smiled again, obviously pleased to be asked.

"I did indeed," she replied. "It's quite a unique language, of course. I don't believe I've seen anything like it in a very long time. You know, this is the first example of this sort of Sith writing that I've ever seen, so there was nothing to compare it to."

Anakin frowned, intrigued. "How did you translate it, then?"

"Well," said Master Nu, "We have discovered samples of a more common brand of Sith writing in the past. I don't know if it had ever actually been used by a Sith. We've normally found it to be used by Granta Omega and his sort—those who admire the Sith, but weren't chosen to follow them. It was similar enough to the writing on the lightsaber that I was able to make a rough comparison." She paused. "Even after all that, though, I only had nonsense. You know, Master Skywalker, this language really is extremely unique. It took me a very long time to realize what kept me from translating it properly."

"And what was that?" asked Anakin. He would have asked anyway, even if the question hadn't been obviously unnecessary. Master Nu's eyes were glowing.

"The depth," she said, with a quiet triumph. "Each stroke—and it can only go as far as a half-inch, apparently—is carved with a different depth into the metal, and that is the deciding factor in pronunciation, in lettering, everything. It obviously can't have been put to everyday use, since, of course, it can't be written on flimsy or a datapad, so I assume it was a very formal language, used on objects that were intended to last for centuries."

Something about the story made Anakin uneasy, but he pushed the feeling aside. "So what did it say?" he asked.

"No doubt a Sith creed of some sort," said Master Nu. "Rather primitive, really; a Basic, idiomatic translation would be, 'The greatest strength is in Darkness and Light.'"

The casualness in her voice as she recited the words made Anakin smile. The translation in itself was useless, as she must have known it would been, but that was hardly the point. The means themselves were the ends in Master Nu's case. Again, though, he felt that sensation of unease. He was thinking hard, but before he had a chance to organize his thoughts, he heard Drin call him from the other side of the room. He excused himself from Master Nu's side, thanking her for what she had told him, and returned to his pupil.

"Done," Drin declared, shoving the flimsy into Anakin's hand. Anakin studied it—the writing was messy and sprawling, with no set margins or spaces, but it was legible, and that was good enough for him.

"Great," Anakin told him, handing the flimsy back. "Now you have to go write it. And before you complain," he added quickly, as Drin opened his mouth to do presumably just that, "I told you to get that paper finished two weeks ago, so unless you can pull an essay about Corellian economics from your back pocket, you're going to be busy tonight."

Drin shut his mouth again, apparently realizing the truth of this, and shoved the flimsy into his pocket with a half-hearted scowl. It was then, as they left the library together, that Anakin realized what bothered him so badly about Jocasta Nu's tale: the ancient Sith, and presumably the modern ones as well, had often tattooed such lettering into their skin. The idea of a scar exactly half an inch deep, carved precisely into sentient flesh, sent a shiver down his spine. Anakin almost wished he hadn't thought of it at all.

* * *

**Author's Note: I'm sorry! I know I took forever to update, but I did warn you people! (points earnestly to profile warning) Anyway, "The Greatest of These" is almost done, so then I will have nothing to write but this.**


	25. Return

"Anakin?"

Pausing in his walk down the hallway, Anakin turned to see Master Windu standing beside him. He greeted him with a nod and a faint, wry grin.

"Master—I'm glad to see you survived." They continued to walk again, side by side.

"I appreciate your concern," said Windu, smiling. "But surely Senate meetings aren't quite as bad as you make them out to be."

"No, they're worse," Anakin corrected darkly. "What did they want you for, anyway?"

"Despite your low opinion of senators, Anakin, they do occasionally have something of import to say. Senator Kelm, from Aridius, has informed us that the Neimoidian Viceroy was seen on that planet before leaving for Geonosis."

That got Anakin's attention; he frowned. "Then the Geonosians are still supporters of the old Separatist movement?"

"That may not be the case," said Windu. "It seems likely, taking into consideration their history, but I suppose we will be unable to know for certain until we can gauge the depth of their cooperation in finding him."

Anakin was about to answer, but then realized what time it was. He excused himself, then returned to his room, mulling over what Windu had told him. The capture of Nute Gunray, Viceroy of the corrupt Trade Federation, would close off a wide opportunity for a rebellion or any other sort of trouble. Anakin had experienced firsthand the Geonosian version of hospitality, however, and he was doubtful as to how much help the Jedi would receive on that planet.

When he reached his room, it was empty. That was a good sign; it meant that he wasn't late, and Drin wasn't there yet, which gave him some time to collect his thoughts and get into "teacher mode". Hardly had he sat down at the kitchen table, however, when the door opened and Drin stormed in.

There was no other word for it; his face was twisted into a scowl, and his feet stomped against the floor as he walked. Moving a chair backwards with the Force, Drin slumped into it, his arms folded resolutely across his chest, as though daring anyone to talk to him. Anakin deliberated a moment on whether or not it would be possible to ignore his pupil's mood, then decided reluctantly against it.

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing," said Drin sullenly. Anakin wanted to roll his eyes at the obvious lie, but didn't push the matter—it was only a few moments before Drin elaborated, anyway. "You know what she said?"

"Who?"

"My Master!" Drin cried impatiently. "You know what she said?"

Anakin shook his head. When Drin answered, his voice was dripping with sarcastic fury.

"She said I was _looking_ at her the wrong way. She yelled at me for fifteen minutes for _looking_ at her."

Anakin was confused. "Looking at your Master the wrong way?"

"Not _her_; Aviva," Drin corrected scornfully. Anakin stiffened. He could guess what 'the wrong way' was.

"Were you?" he asked, his tone sharper than he had meant it to be. Drin looked at him resentfully.

"No," he said—but Anakin heard the split-second hesitation, saw the faintest instinctive shrug of his shoulders. He knew Drin was lying, not only because of all these signs, but because he himself had seen 'the wrong way' on Drin's face for a split second when Anakin had caught him gazing at Aviva, not with dreamy longing but with a hungry, almost callous desire.

Drin did not mention it again during the lesson once he'd cooled down, so Anakin did not mention it either—but he was worried. Schoolboy crushes were one thing; lust was another, especially for a Jedi, and one so young.

When lessons were finished for the day, Anakin waited until he knew Drin would be at lunch before he left. He didn't know exactly which rooms belonged to Ka'ela Brun, but he knew they were close to Drin's, so he headed in that direction. Luck was with him; he spotted her coming out into the hallway, and stopped her.

"Master Brun, I need to speak with you," he said. The short woman looked up at him.

"Is this about Drin?" she asked. Anakin nodded, surprised, and Master Brun sighed. With a wave of her hand, her door reopened, and she invited him inside with a gesture.

"How did you know it was him I wanted to talk about?" asked Anakin, stepping in. The door led into a small living room. Sitting down on the couch, Master Brun motioned for him to do the same.

"All of Drin's teachers have come to me with complaints about his behavior," she explained, an attempted lightheartedness in her tone. "I assumed that naturally you would have the same sort of thing on your mind."

This was news to Anakin; he hesitated, torn between his original mission and discovering more about these complaints. He decided to continue as planned, then branch off later.

"I haven't had any sort of problems with Drin's behavior lately," he said honestly. "I wanted to talk to you about something that he told me this morning that worried me."

Master Brun nodded, giving him permission to continue.

"He said that you'd been angry with him, for looking at a girl the wrong way. What—what exactly did you mean by that?"

Anakin was hoping for some denial of his original thoughts, an explanation that would make him look back on his suspicions with relieved mirth. Master Brun's serious face belied all that; she shook her head.

"I'm afraid it means exactly what it sounds like," she murmured. "I assume you know that Drin's had his eye on a girl named Aviva Kenmur for a good while—this morning, I caught him alone with his imagination." Distressed eyes flickered up to Anakin's face, accompanied by a wry smile. "You were a teenage boy once, Master Skywalker—you know what they're like."

Anakin nodded, slow and distracted. "This is very dangerous," he said at last.

"Certainly," agreed Master Brun. "But the fact of the matter is that he refuses to hear such a thing." Her tone was calm, but her hands twisted nervously in her lap. "If Drin has given you no problems, Master Skywalker, then you are the only one. His behavior has only grown worse over the past year, and when anyone tries to correct him, he immediately loses any respect he might have had for them."

"Do you think, if I tried to talk to him, he would listen?"

She shrugged. "It might—but then, you might lose his trust, just like I have."

"I'm not his Master, but that doesn't mean I'll allow him to do whatever he likes," Anakin said firmly. "If you'll excuse me, Master Brun, I'd like to try and find him now."

"Good luck."

Anakin's face was impassive as he left her rooms, gazing at all with perfect equanimity. It was a startling contrast with the anger that he felt beneath. That idiotic little _brat_—had he learned nothing at all in fifteen years under the greatest Jedi Masters ever to live? What arrogance, to so boldly ignore such teachings! How could he even _dare_ to—

Anakin forced himself to stop walking until he had calmed down, or disastrous consequences might occur when he finally caught up with Drin. It was arrogant, and it was willful, but for Anakin to place blame with righteous anger bordered on hypocrisy, considering some of his past actions. He began walking again, so set on his goal that he didn't see Master Yoda's hoverchair until he'd come within a few inches of knocking his head against it.

"I'm so sorry, Master," Anakin apologized quickly. Lowering his chair, the Jedi Master chuckled.

"Glad I am to see you, young Skywalker," said Yoda. "Speaking of you, the Council has been."

"Oh? Why would that be, Master?" Anakin inquired, trying to sound interested while gazing over Yoda's shoulder in an attempt to see whether Drin was anywhere in the immediate vicinity.

"A meeting, the Council has just had," Master Yoda informed Anakin, moving his chair slowly in the direction Anakin had just come. He had no choice; reluctantly, Anakin walked beside him, impatient to get this conversation over with. Lately, he had come to appreciate Yoda's words more and more, and at any other time he would have enjoyed this chance meeting, but right now…

"Word, we have had, from a Nubian contact on Geonosis. Claims, he does, that he knows where the Viceroy is hiding."

"Mm," Anakin agreed blandly.

"Decide, the Council must, who to send on such an important mission," Yoda said, apparently unaware that Anakin was only just barely listening to him. "But perhaps well you would do on such a mission, Master Skywalker?"

"Mm…" Anakin suddenly realized that these last words were actually relevant to him. "No, Master Yoda, I can't go right now!"

"Hm?" The Master's ears perked up. "What is this you say? Accept this mission, you cannot?"

"Not at the moment," Anakin excused himself. "I've just found out something very important, Master, and I can't leave the Temple until I've resolved it."

"Hm!" Yoda repeated, this time in a very disdainful tone. "Too late, it is. Been selected already, you and Master Olin have. Leaves, your transport must, within an hour."

"But Master—!" Anakin broke off, realizing how useless it would be to argue. With every ounce of self-control in him, he managed to bow obediently. Fuming, he returned to his room to pack.

* * *

He had tried to look for Drin after he'd finished packing, but there had been so little time that Anakin only had time to check his pupil's room, which was vacant, before boarding the transport to Geonosis. It was a while before he could stop cursing his luck. 

At least Ferus was going with him. It was their first mission together since they had both become Knights, which added a bit of excitement to the whole thing. Neimoidians had a general reputation as cowards, but Master Yoda had stressed to them the importance of capturing the Viceroy, which was why two Knights had been sent on such a simple mission.

Geonosis looked just as Anakin had left it a little over a year ago: its rocky surface remained the color of red clay, and tall, winding spires still dotted the landscape. Anakin, self-designated pilot of the mission, landed in the shadow of one such stone spiral.

"We're close to the city," Ferus remarked as they disembarked from the small ship. "Now we just need to speak with Poggle the Lesser, and he should give us some help."

"I read the mission briefing, too," Anakin said dryly as they walked across the pebbly ground. "And I'd prefer it if you did a good amount of the 'speaking'."

"But Jedi don't hold grudges, Anakin," reprimanded Ferus in a saintly tone. Anakin shot him a look.

"Tell that to the next guy who strings _you_ up by your arms and sticks you into a battle arena for the general populace's entertainment," he retorted. "I wouldn't trust Poggle any farther than I could throw him."

"And how far would that be?"

Anakin considered. "With the Force, or without?"

"I don't know. Without, I guess. Seems fairer."

"Probably about five yards. How heavy is a Geonosian?"

"That depends on the age. Do we know how old Poggle the Lesser is?"

"Fairly old, I should think. What's the average lifespan of a Geonosian?"

"How should I know?"

"Well, and the wings might affect the whole process."

The whimsical bantering ran until they reached the tallest spire in the area, presumably belonging to the Geonosian leader. Climbing up the circular stairs took quite a while, but they finally reached the top, thereby accessing a small, unfurnished room; its floor was tiled, the walls and ceiling made of the rock from which it was carved. Its only exits were the open way through which the two Jedi had just come, and then there was a door set in the rock.

As they watched, this door slid open, and a Geonosian entered, paper-thin wings twitching—Anakin thought he recognized him as Poggle the Lesser, though Geonosians were, to him at least, as difficult to tell apart as insects. Then, just as he had remembered with a sinking feeling that neither he nor Ferus spoke Geonosian, from behind the alien walked a silver-plated protocol droid, its halting footsteps clacking and echoing against the tile.

Poggle was the first to speak. When the peculiar clicking noises had left his mouth, the droid translated them into Basic. "His Excellency, Poggle the Lesser, welcomes you to Geonosis," it said in the high-pitched, tinny voice that was typical of all protocol droids. Ferus bowed, and Anakin reluctantly emulated him. The words were amiable enough, but the Geonosian's small, dark eyes bored into him, and they appeared very unfriendly. It was very hard to forget that here stood a being that had sentenced him to death.

"We thank Your Excellency for your generosity," replied Ferus, addressing Poggle, who understood Basic but was unable to speak it. "We have no intention of disturbing you—our only objective is to find and capture the Neimoidian that has taken refuge here. If Your Excellency has any idea where we might begin looking, it would greatly aid our search."

The alien dictated his response to the droid, who translated again. "An unfamiliar ship was sighted landing approximately three kilometers to the south of here. There are several unused aboveground caves in that area—perhaps the Neimoidian traitor is hiding there."

Ferus thanked Poggle and bowed once again, but the alien had not finished. "His Excellency also offers the use of a flying machine to the Jedi," his droid related. "They are kept here for visitors such as yourselves. It is very difficult to navigate Geonosis without some sort of aeronautical transportation."

Anakin was surprised; this was a sort of cooperation he would certainly not have expected from the Geonosians. Once again Ferus thanked Poggle, and after being assured that their transport would be waiting for them at the bottom of the hive, the Jedi began their climb downward.

"Looks like you were just being paranoid," Ferus said with a grin. Anakin had to look over his shoulder to reply.

"It's not being paranoid if they've already attacked you," he replied. "Then it's called being cautious."

They walked a moment in silence.

"So," said Ferus after the pause, "How heavy do you think he was?"

"One hundred fifty, one hundred sixty…somewhere around there."

* * *

The flying machine made Anakin very nervous. He had gone to much greater heights than this on much shakier vehicles, but he had a faith in speeders and swoop bikes that did not extend to primitive mechanical devices, such as this thing. It seemed almost determined to impress upon its riders just how unsafe it was: not only was it not closed, there was practically nothing of it but a long, narrow platform made of wood with a propulsion engine attached to the bottom. A few long poles had been stretched over the top for handholds, and they made up the entire safety mechanism of the thing. 

There was only one seat, and that was for the pilot, namely Anakin. It took him a couple minutes to work out the controls, and when at last he hit the correct button (they were all labeled in Geonosian), Ferus only just grabbed on to one of the poles in time to avoid being pitched off.

"I thought you said you were good at this sort of thing," he complained from behind Anakin. The engine, once figured out, was surprisingly quiet, emitting only a steady whirring sound to betray its presence. Anakin did not deign to answer this, but simply continued steering as they skimmed over the surface of Geonosis.

"Did you notice how he talked about Nute Gunray?" he asked after they had gone a ways.

"Who, Poggle?"

Anakin nodded. "The last time I was here, they were standing side by side up in that balcony."

He could sense his friend's confusion. "So…what's your point?"

"Nothing." Anakin shrugged. "It's just weird. Why would he turn on his ally like that, giving us all this help and calling him a traitor?"

"Well, Geonosis is under Grievous's rule now," Ferus pointed out. "The Viceroy is mutually considered a traitor by both Republics."

"It's just weird," Anakin repeated stubbornly. "I mean, think about it: if Gunray had gotten it into his head to do what Grievous did, _he_ would be the one with the New Republic, and we'd still be chasing Grievous. It's…what's the word…it's ironic."

"That doesn't mean it's weird," Ferus said, ever rational. "Grievous had a vision of peace; Gunray still wants war."

Anakin snorted. "The day Grievous has a 'vision of peace' will be the day that I shave off my skin and become a B'omarr monk. And anyway, since when have the Geonosians been anything but self—whoa, look over there."

Careful to keep one hand tightly wrapped around the pole, Ferus followed Anakin's gaze to see the sun glinting brightly off something silver that was partly hidden behind a dune.

"That's got to be his ship," said Anakin. "Think we should land?"

"He might have a defense system of some sort," Ferus cautioned. "Just be careful."

Anakin swerved the machine around the dune. Sure enough, it was a Trade Federation ship, and though he was a good forty feet in the air, he could see a cave mouth dug into the rock behind it.

"That's probably where he's hiding," Anakin said. "We should—"

"_Anakin!_"

He jerked his head up at the sound of Ferus's voice only just in time to see a black speck zoom up from the dunes about fifty yards away. It was impossible to make out features at such a distance, but whoever it was rode a swoop bike, and Anakin would have bet a great deal that it was their target.

"How did he get over there?" Anakin demanded.

"There must be more than one entrance to the caves," Ferus moaned. "Hurry, we're losing him!"

Anakin did not need to be told twice. Using every bit of his limited knowledge, he immediately kicked up their pace. They were zooming across the rocky terrain now with furious speed, but the speck hardly seemed to be growing larger. Nute Gunray or not, whoever sat on that swoop was desperate to keep away from them.

"We've got to go faster!" Ferus yelled over the roar of the engine, which was steadily growing louder as the machine accelerated. "Isn't there anything else you can do?"

"Hold on!" was Anakin's shouted reply as he fiddled with the controls. Without warning the machine gave a violent, abrupt jerk, almost toppling Anakin from the platform. He managed to stay in his seat, but even as he heard Ferus's cry he felt the startled fear in their bond, and knew before he whirled and frantically shouted his friend's name that Ferus had fallen to the rocky ground below. Already he was far ahead of Ferus—to go back would mean to lose the Viceroy entirely. Biting his lip, Anakin kept going.

Without Ferus's weight, the gap had begun to close, until Anakin was close enough to be certain of his target's identity. The Neimoidian was a terrible driver, relying solely on his bike's speed to keep him out of the Jedi's grasp. Anakin could have instigated a game of cat and mouse, blocking every move the Viceroy tried to make and then forcing him to the ground and enjoying every minute of it, but Ferus was weighing heavily on his mind, and so was time.

Focusing hard, he raised one hand off the controls and sent a wave of the Force blasting in Gunray's direction, then immediately began a steep plunge downward. The Neimoidian fell, shrieking with terror, from his swoop. Another wave of the Force caught the Neimoidian in midair about twelve feet from the ground; Anakin landed, quickly disembarked, and then let Gunray fall the rest of the way.

The ground was still rough here in places, reminiscent of the stony land they had raced through earlier, but for the most part consisted entirely of dunes. The Viceroy tumbled with a cry onto the slanted sand, then rolled face-up on the dirt.

"Please, don't kill me!" he begged as soon as he saw Anakin's face. Remarkably, he was out of breath. ""You wouldn't—wouldn't kill me—I have no weapon!"

"Get up," Anakin ordered shortly. His mind was working furiously: how far back had he left Ferus? What if he was hurt? Would Anakin be able to find him again amidst the massive maze of hives and boulders?

The part of him that was so very human wanted to blatantly desert the Viceroy , leave him where he now stood, his once-elaborate robes dirty and ragged. It wanted to race back to Ferus and ensure his safety, repeat apologies for leaving him behind—but the Jedi within Anakin knew it was impossible, clamping down on the idea with stern absoluteness. Nothing could be done until Gunray was safely within custody. This mission was too important to throw away.

By the time Anakin and the Viceroy reached the Jedi ship, nearly an hour had passed since the chase had begun. Anakin's nerves were fraying rapidly, helped along by the incessant pleas for mercy from his prisoner, but anyone who saw him at that moment would never have known it. Anakin had at last managed to borrow that unbreakable façade of calm which he had seen on the faces of so many Council members.

Always he had wondered how they managed it, keeping so serene when everything came crashing down around them. Now he understood that the calm, contrary to usual procedure, came only after its appearance: if a show of calm could be made, the real thing would soon follow.

If he could not have appeared at ease, worry would have torn him apart. Anakin waited a few minutes at the ship, hoping against reason that Ferus would return. Then, when he was disappointed, Anakin immediately set off to find his friend, heart clenched in fear.


	26. All Too Easy

He saw the blood first—that was not a good sign.

Scanning the darkening horizon, Anakin at last saw the Viceroy's abandoned ship. That meant he was on the right track; he knew which way to go from here. And then, as he rocketed across the landscape on the flying machine, Anakin looked down and saw, for a split second, long streaks of vermillion sliding down the rusty brown of the rocks. His heart seemed to stop.

Anakin landed immediately, but still couldn't see Ferus anywhere. Judging from the long streaks upon the crags, Ferus must have hit something up at the top very hard and then come rolling down, leaving a sticky trail in his wake. Anakin called Ferus's name once, twice, desperation clear in his voice, but received no answer.

He kept walking. The high, narrow walls reminded him of Beggar's Canyon back on Tatooine, but there the cliffs were relatively smooth and linear—here, they looked more like fossilized piles of mud that had been stacked upon each other until they reached a height of at least twenty feet. He kept walking, and did not have much longer to walk—without warning, Anakin turned a sharp corner and saw his friend's body before him.

_He's dead,_ came the immediate, choking thought.

Ferus was dead, had to be dead. He lay facedown in the sand—blood was soaked into his hair and pooled around his head, which had suffered a long, ragged gash that stretched from one ear to the back of his neck. His breathing fast and shallow, Anakin eventually regained some presence of mind.

"Ferus?" He touched his friend's shoulder, with no response. "Ferus, please!" When at last it occurred to him to take Ferus's pulse, he was granted with some hope: through the pale skin, blotched with red, could be felt the faintest throbs of life.

Somehow he managed to lay Ferus's limp body across the flying machine. Hot, sticky blood managed to get everywhere as he did so, under his fingernails and streaked across his face, until he looked nearly as bad as Ferus himself. But Anakin forced himself not to think of it, think only of getting Ferus back to where he could be healed.

Though he forced the machine to its limits—flimsy as it was, after such hard riding it had begun to falter—the ride back home seemed interminable. Cramped fingers held a death grip on the steering lever, with Anakin's other arm wrapped tightly around Ferus's chest. Every few moments came one of absolute, terrified certainty that he would drop Ferus, that he would lose his grip, that they would both fall to their deaths—but somehow none of that ever happened, and they landed minutes later at the Jedi ship.

To Anakin, mentally exhausted, it felt that he drew on his last reserves of strength to deliver Ferus safely to a bed, check on the Viceroy who was locked in a back room, and then find and activate the med droid on the ship. The droid moved with quiet steps to where Ferus lay, still and ashen under the blood.

"The human has sustained a serious head injury," it said, for Anakin's benefit, in that soft and vaguely female voice that was supposedly so soothing. For his own part, Anakin didn't feel much better upon hearing it. "Several minor abrasions on the rest of the body as well…" One metal arm came up and began feeling with an expert touch around Ferus's torso. "…and two ribs cracked."

Anakin groaned. "Will he be all right?" he asked in a hoarse voice.

"It will be impossible to tell until I can examine the wound further," replied the droid. "A blow to the head like this, depending on the depth, can be fatal."

Anakin thought he might faint, or throw up, or both. Until now, he had not thought otherwise than that he would stay here until Ferus woke up—his mind would not let him dwell on the alternative—but suddenly Anakin found that he could no longer bear the sight of his friend's brutally torn flesh. He stumbled out of the room, feeling as though he was about to suffocate.

Guilt threatened to overwhelm him—guilt that he had not managed to catch his friend, that it has been his piloting that had caused Ferus to fall—and there was guilt for leaving Ferus behind, but no regret. Choices like this, the Jedi Council emphasized, tortured the soul and should never be made; but if you had to make them, the mission came first, always, always.

Determined to have something to do besides pace nervously, Anakin went to the refresher. There, he stuck his hands under the flow of water from the sink and scrubbed as hard as he could at the blood caked under his nails, staining his hands.

It took much longer than he would have thought to remove all traces—it seemed that every time he turned to leave, Anakin caught sight of another crimson streak in the mirror, on his arm, on the back of his neck, on his cloak. Dear Force, there was so much of it—how could Ferus conceivably survive when all this blood had left his body? How could there be any left? Anakin scrubbed furiously; the horrific idea of being covered in his best friend's blood had finally begun to permeate his thoughts, slowly cracking the wall of Jedi calm.

Night had fallen on Geonosis. Anakin returned to Ferus's room, but only for a moment. After being assured by the med droid that there was no change, he found another room with a sleep couch in it and forced himself to lie down. It was a long time before he could make his eyes close—when they did, the thought, _"Please let Ferus be all right, don't let him die, let him be all right"_ repeated itself in his head like a chanted prayer until he finally fell asleep.

* * *

It was several hours before Anakin woke again, and then it was a few minutes before he remembered with a thud what had happened the day before. He couldn't decide whether it would be preferable to stay here, not knowing but still hoping, or go to Ferus's room and find out for sure. After a few minutes of torn deliberation, he chose the latter. 

The med droid was in the hallway outside Ferus's room, in standby mode. When Anakin's footsteps could be heard, it powered itself up again and walked toward him.

"How is he?" asked Anakin.

"Quite well," replied the droid breezily. "The wound is superficial, though it would appear otherwise at first. The human is awake, if you would like to—"

Anakin had already stridden past the droid and into Ferus's room. Upon the sight of his friend sitting up, a good amount of synth-skin plastered to the back of his head, Anakin's knees went weak. He had not realized how great his fear was until he was relieved of it.

"Don't do that again," he moaned, sagging against the doorway. "You have no idea how scared I was." Pulling up a chair, Anakin sank into it. "So how are you, really?"

Ferus shrugged a shoulder, smiling faintly. His wounds had been tended to, but there was still quite a bit of dried blood in his hair, a disconcerting contrast against the dull streak of gold. "I feel like krif, honestly, but I'll live. Did you find the Viceroy?"

Anakin nodded; Ferus, the faultless Jedi Knight, dedicated to a fault. There was nothing unusual about that, but this was the first time that Anakin could actually understand Ferus's concern, rather than marveling at it.

"He's on the ship right now," Anakin told him.

"Did you interrogate him?"

Anakin blinked. "Interrogate him? Why would I do that?"

"He might know where some of the other Separatist leaders are," Ferus pointed out.

"I didn't think of that," Anakin admitted.

"I'd do it," said Ferus, "but the way I look now, I'm probably not all that intimidating."

"You scared the krif out of _me_, anyway," Anakin muttered under his breath. In a normal voice, he continued, "Well, do you want me to get it done now?"

"Sometime before he's permanently jailed for high treason would be nice," said Ferus sweetly.

"I can do that."

* * *

Neimoidians as a rule were not difficult to work with—they were fearful, stupid creatures, brave only when they had thousands of soldiers between themselves and the enemy. This one was no exception; as soon as Anakin entered the room, Gunray's black eyes opened wide and he jumped to his feet. 

"Sit down," Anakin preempted him. "I won't hurt you. I just want to ask you some questions."

The Viceroy sat again on the bed. "Anything I can do to help the Jedi would be my honor," he said primly, as though he had planned this meeting. No doubt he knew that a lighter punishment would await him back on Coruscant if he cooperated. Anakin remained standing.

"How long have you been on Geonosis?" he asked, without preamble.

"Months—ever since the Supreme Chancellor's downfall." He spoke Basic with that odd accent that all Neimoidians had, replacing "th" with "d" and rounding all vowels. Anakin had been planning to continue with this line of questioning, but at Palpatine's name he decided to go about this another way.

"Did you know he was a Sith Lord when you were working for him?"

"We knew."

"And was General Grievous aware of that?"

"I do not believe so."

_Krif_. Anakin had been hoping for something on which to convict Grievous, but whether or not the Viceroy was lying, he could prove nothing. It was such an ambiguous answer that the Force held no hints for him, either. Anakin gave up and returned to his original line of questioning. "Why did you hide when Palpatine was killed?"

"Without his protection, the Trade Federation was defenseless against the Senate."

"What made you choose Geonosis?"

"It was not our first choice. We had originally gone to Mustafar, with Count Dooku."

"And Grievous?"

A split-second hesitation, then: "No."

He was lying, but it didn't matter. Technically, Anakin's mission to Mustafar had been before Grievous's supposed change of heart, and so could be easily dismissed by the Senate. "Do you know where Count Dooku is now?" Anakin asked, declining to press Gunray into telling the obvious truth.

"No. We have not seen him since Mustafar." Anakin could sense truth in that, and bewilderment, as well, which was interesting.

For the first time, then, Anakin suddenly noticed the constant usage of plurals. That could have been important. "Where have you been hiding all this time on Geonosis?" he asked.

"In the caves, and in some of the abandoned hives."

"But you didn't have sanction from the Geonosians, correct?"

"They never allowed us sanctuary—not after Grievous became leader of the New Alliance," the Neimoidian muttered. There was an understandable amount of bitterness in his tone. Again, the plural caught at Anakin's attention.

"Us?" he repeated swiftly, throwing caution to the winds. "Then there are more Separatist leaders hiding here?"

Throughout the interview, Gunray had begun to visibly relax. At Anakin's words, he immediately grew alert, quivering. "I never said such a thing!" he cried. "No, no, it is only myself!"

The vehemence of his denial proved to Anakin beyond a shadow of a doubt that his hunch was correct. Thank the Force that Neimoidians had no brains. All Anakin said, however, was, "All right, then. Thank you for your cooperation, Viceroy", and then left the room in a calm manner that belied his triumphant mood.

* * *

"Well, you were right," Anakin said a few moments later, sitting again beside Ferus's bed. "Not only that, they're actually hiding here, on Geonosis." 

Ferus looked at him incredulously. "What, all of them?"

"At least one, maybe more."

Shaking his head, Ferus started to laugh, then ceased quickly as an expression of pain crossed his face. "That's unbelievable," he said. "They must have known this would be the first place we would look."

"I know," Anakin agreed. "That's what makes it so—"

"Don't say weird," warned Ferus.

"Well, it is, isn't it?" Anakin persisted. "I mean, we know they're not exactly the brightest species ever to crawl out of the primeval muck, but even the Neimoidians must have realized that the more of them that hid here, the greater chance that they would all get caught. Plus, it's not just Neimoidians that made up the old Separatist leadership—Shu Mai was in it, and she's very intelligent."

Ferus gave him a look of pained patience. "Is there a point to this, or are you just rambling because you're bored?"

"You are not being helpful."

"Well?"

"This planet, of all planets, doesn't make any sense. It's such a terrible place to hide that you'd almost think they wanted to get caught."

"Could you hand me that pillow?" asked Ferus, pointing. "The one on the floor."

Anakin, who had been expecting a bit more of a reaction, grumpily tossed the pillow onto his friend's stomach. When at last Ferus had arranged the cushion to his satisfaction, only then did he respond. "You know you're insane, right? Why on Avon would the Separatists _want_ to get caught?"

"Well, they wouldn't, obviously," argued Anakin. "But up until very recently, they worked for Palpatine, and then for Dooku. They're not so very competent, and besides, they've all been labeled criminals. He can't use them anymore—the easiest way for Dooku to get rid of them would be to let them get captured."

This was so very interesting that Ferus propped himself up on his elbows, though he winced with pain as he did so. "But Dooku can't have just given up!" he protested. "You know the Sith: they'll do whatever it takes to accomplish a goal. He wouldn't just throw away his most powerful servants like that."

Anakin's expression was serious as he replied, "Not unless he had someone even more powerful working for him now, so that he could afford to throw them out."

Ferus looked at him askance. "You mean Grievous, don't you? Anakin…"

"Oh, come on!" demanded Anakin. "You know just as well as I do that Grievous lives and breathes Republic hatred. You know what he's capable of, and you know what he's done! Do you really believe that he's changed so dramatically at such a convenient time?"

Ferus was quiet for a moment. "No, I don't, really," he said finally, his voice slow. "But the Senate trusts him, and maybe that's all that matters. You have to admit," he continued loudly, as Anakin opened his mouth to interrupt, "that his moves up until this point don't seem to make any sense unless he's really decided to give peace a try. Grievous himself might not have changed, but he's smart enough to see that he'd get a better deal living off the Republic rather than fighting it. If he defects now, he has nothing to gain."

"Maybe," Anakin said grumpily. It made sense—everything Ferus said made sense, on a general basis—but it still didn't feel right. He let the subject drop. "How are you feeling?"

"A little better. Why?"

Anakin stood. "We need to start looking around Geonosis for the rest of the Separatist leaders. Gunray's scared enough of Dooku that he won't tell us anything about their location—he won't even confirm that they're here. So you should probably let me know when you're feeling all right."

Ferus made a face as he lay back down. "Thanks for your concern," he said sardonically.

* * *

They returned to Poggle the Lesser when Ferus had recovered sufficiently to leave the ship, but the Geonosian knew nothing other than what he had already told them. That meant that the Jedi had to start from scratch, investigating places where the Separatist leaders might be hiding. After Anakin had informed the Council of their decision to stay on Geonosis for a while, they began their search in earnest. 

The good news, bewildering though it happened to be, was that they were much more successful than either of them would have originally guessed. Upon their arrival at the only place Anakin could think to look at first—the hangar that Dooku had used over a year ago—they discovered Rune Haako, Gunray's lieutenant, hiding there with a small bunch of bodyguarding battle droids. One by one, all but a few of the old Separatists were found hiding somewhere on Geonosis, with an ease that shocked both Jedi.

The bad news, though, was that while this was all excellent for the Republic and certainly not very difficult, it was taking Anakin and Ferus a long time. They had planned to return to the Temple after about two weeks on Geonosis—three, if Gunray had proved particularly elusive. But what with the travel time of going all across the planet, coupled with the Jedi's reluctance to leave in case they missed one or two, kept them on Geonosis for nearly four months. Finally, when they were fairly convinced that they had gone over every single rock on this planet, the Jedi left for Coruscant, carrying with them several more political prisoners than they had originally intended.

Upon breaching Coruscant's atmosphere, there was a short debate as to who would report to the Council, and who would take the prisoners immediately to the Galactic Prison. Anakin originally wanted the latter job, but then remembered the disproportionate amount of red tape that was often necessary in situations like this, and changed his mind. So instead, Ferus simply dropped him off at the Temple on the way.

As soon as his feet hit the familiar stone, Anakin felt as though he had dropped a burden. He had missed this place, more than he had known until now. If only Ferus didn't have to be busy for the next few hours…_but then again, better him than me._ From the hangar, he made his way to the Council Chamber.

Even as he approached the door, he knew Windu could sense him, and felt his Master's consent, and so he entered. With this sort of warning, the Council was quiet when he came in.

"Master, I've just returned from Geonosis," Anakin said, bowing. "I'm pleased to report that our mission was extremely successful."

Windu inclined his head in greeting. "Did you find the Viceroy?" he asked. Anakin was unable to keep from grinning.

"Not only that," he said, "but we found four other members of the old Separatist leadership, as well."

Every back in the room straightened. "With him on Geonosis, they were?" Yoda demanded. Anakin nodded, deliberated for an uncertain moment, then plunged in.

"They were," he said, and then listed their names. "And despite the fact that this is marvelous luck for us—forgive me, Masters, but I can't help feeling it's too easy."

"Mm?" Yoda sat back in his chair, his hands resting on the head of his cane, but his eyes remained alert. "How so?"

"The Separatists are useless now from almost every perspective," said Anakin. "With a few exceptions, all of them lost their fortunes when their cause was defeated—the Neimoidians on the leadership lost their Trade Federation. They have no more power in the Senate or anywhere else now that they've become wanted. They were the Sith's servants, but the Sith can no longer use them."

"You think they were planted to keep us off the track of something else?" questioned Master Koth.

"Maybe," admitted Anakin, not wanting to lose himself on another "Grievous-is-obviously-up-to-no-good-can't-you-see-that?" rant. After all, the Council agreed with him. "But at least Dooku wanted to get rid of them. He could have killed them, of course, but this way we're satisfied, at least temporarily."

The members of the Council looked at one another, communicating wordlessly. With a bond such as they formed, even the Force was hardly necessary for them to understand what another was thinking. After so many years together, in this room they seemed to move and think as a single organism, rather than twelve separate ones.

"It is a valid and possible point," said Windu finally. "But in any case, it is a good thing that we've managed to capture so many of them, regardless of whether or not we were 'allowed' to have them. You have done well, Anakin—and give Master Olin our congratulations, as well."

He bowed, again, and then left the room.

* * *

**Author's Note: If you'll notice, I changed the title of the story, as well as the summary. The title has always bugged me, but the summary especially needed to be modified, since it no longer encompassed the story's real topic. Hopefully "A Legacy of Strength" isn't too cheesy.**


	27. Diplomacy and Violence

**Author's Note: Oh, I feel like such a bad person when I don't update in so long... But I do have a good excuse, for once. I was on vacation for the past two weeks, and though I was writing, I didn't get the chance to upload the chapter until now. So, enjoy.

* * *

**  
Lessons with Drin were resumed as though they had never left off. If Anakin had had any doubts as to whether they would continue after he had been away for so long, those doubts were immediately dispelled when Drin came into his room the morning after his return. Anakin was sitting at the table, having just finished breakfast, when he entered.

"I heard you caught the Neimoidian Trade Federation leader," exclaimed Drin as soon as he came through the door. "The Council must be awfully happy with you."

Anakin eyed his pupil for a moment before answering. There was something different about him—a growth spurt, most likely. Yes, he definitely looked taller; or maybe he'd just achieved decent posture during Anakin's absence.

"Well, he's not the prize we'd hoped," Anakin answered finally. "And it's not worth mind-tricking him. Gunray hardly knows anything at all, much less anything about Dooku's plans." Brushing the crumbs off his fingers, he sat back in his chair. "So, what's on the list for today?"

"I don't have much homework," Drin said, shrugging. His hand found the long, dark Padawan braid on his shoulder, twisting it around his index finger. "But I was thinking you could help me with something."

"Sure. What?"

Drin hesitated a moment, as though uncertain of his request. When he spoke, though, the decision in his voice was clear. "I want to learn how to meditate better—you know, with more focus."

It was a good decision on Drin's part, and Anakin approved; he just couldn't figure out why on Avon the Drin he knew would make such a request. Up until this moment, he would have sworn that his pupil loathed meditation just as much as Anakin himself once had.

"Sure," Anakin said slowly. "That sounds like a good idea." And Drin smiled.

Lessons began to take on a much more Force-oriented scope from that day forward. Not only that, there was a marked difference in Drin's attitude. In the time Anakin had been gone, willfulness had been replaced by not just obedience, but by an attentiveness that surprised him, and an eagerness that made Anakin think that Drin actually enjoyed learning this sort of thing.

The explanation eluded him until a few weeks afterward—then Anakin realized that Master Brun, finally fed up, must have given Drin such a tongue-lashing that he had finally calmed down. Grateful for this fact, Anakin determined to speak with her as soon as possible.

As luck would have it, though, before Anakin could find the time to find her, Master Brun came looking for him. As he sat in the training room, watching Drin practice katas with a group of friends, he heard a noise beside him, and looked up to see Ka'ela Brun standing there.

"I'm glad to have found you here," she said. "He's really improved, hasn't he?" At this, she gestured toward Drin, and Anakin could easily agree.

"He's actually begun to learn, I think, rather than just listening," Anakin noted. "Have you noticed that, too?"

Master Brun nodded, sitting on the bench beside him. "There's no denying there's been a definite change." She gave Anakin a smile. "I'm very grateful to you, Master Skywalker. Whatever you said to him certainly worked."

Anakin opened his mouth to respond, then closed it, puzzled, as he realized what she'd just said. "But I never got the chance to speak to him," he protested. "I had to leave for Geonosis almost immediately after leaving your room, when you told me about—" he did a quick check to ensure that Drin could not hear them "—about all the problems you were having with him. I thought you must have talked with him after I left."

Slowly, Master Brun shook her head. The uncertainty in her voice revealed her confusion. "I never said anything to him," she admitted. "There was no need."

As one, they looked over at the dark-haired boy on the other side of the room, his brow furrowed in concentration as he lashed out against the air. One of them ought to have stood and confronted Drin; neither did, for fear that whatever had caused this change would rescind itself. And after all, it wasn't as though a change in such a direction could be in any way dangerous.

* * *

At some unknown point in Amidala's complicated negotiations with Grievous, it had been somehow agreed that the Jedi would help monitor the security of the Separatist Republic. These missions were hardly as frequent as those within the domain of the Republic, and not as time-consuming, but although Anakin had been approached once or twice by the Council to take them, he always refused, and someone else would be sent. The idea of taking orders from an old nemesis like Grievous grated unbearably on his sense of principle.

In order for the Jedi to properly assist Grievous (and the Council never refused), at least once a month a prominent Jedi would go to meet with him. Though the official capital of the Separatist Republic had been announced as Orest 6, these meetings were always held on Grievous's personal ship.

The missions were purely diplomatic, necessary but still very routine. For this reason, often the Knight sent would take one or two Padawans with him or her, as it was considered good experience for them. Anakin knew all this, but never supposed he would have to put it into practice. Sadly, such was not the case. As he and Ferus strolled along the corridors of the Jedi Temple one day, Windu approached them and asked permission to talk to Anakin alone. Granted it, he walked by his former apprentice's side.

"It's nearly time for the Jedi to meet with Grievous," remarked Windu. Anakin said nothing, but looked warily at his Master. "If you were to go, you could take your student. I'm sure it would be a very educational experience for him."

"No doubt," Anakin conceded, "if I were willing to go."

"You're being unusually stubborn about this."

"For the sake of everyone involved, I think that's a good thing."

"Anakin, this grudge against Grievous cannot stand," Windu said sternly, and Anakin's gaze rose defiantly. "You are the last person I would expect to see fall prey to the Dark Side, but stronger Jedi than you have been brought down by less."

Biting down on his lip, Anakin nodded. "I know that, Master," he conceded. "I am sorry, but—" After a moment's obvious struggle, he burst out, "To ally ourselves someone who has committed so many atrocities is not the Jedi way! How can we just forget all the people he's killed?"

"The Council's trust in him is not blind, Anakin," Windu murmured. "No one has forgotten his crimes."

Anakin remained tight-lipped. "Forgive me, Master, but there is nothing right about being at peace with such a person. He is a criminal, and force does not make him otherwise."

"I agree with you."

Before the surprised Anakin could respond, Windu continued firmly, "And all the Council is of the same mind. But circumstances will not change to suit us. Whether or not Grievous has changed is, from the Jedi point of view, somewhat irrelevant; that perspective does not include the Senate, and they are the ones making this decision. For now, we must abide by their law, which means—"

"—you want me to go meet with Grievous," Anakin finished.

"I think it would be for the best."

* * *

Of course Anakin went; and he took Drin with him, and—though it was unexpected—Aviva as well, after her Master asked Anakin to take her. This was the source of some worry for both of Drin's teachers, but the way he had been acting lately, it seemed safe to hope that there would be no problems.

The three Jedi took an official transport to the atmosphere of Yavin, which was where Grievous's ship was currently parked. These were extremely spacious, but a bit on the slow side, which allowed Anakin time to get to know Aviva. Until now, she'd been known to him only as the temptation which stood in Drin's way, and he'd wondered privately if she had encouraged this dangerous behavior at all. Now, though, he was close enough to make the guess that it had been no fault of hers.

Aviva was fair, with pale skin and light hair that fell to her shoulders, and she was tall. She was of the carefree sort that laughed often, but could turn serious at a moment's notice when there was something important afoot. She did, as she explained to Anakin, enjoy any sort of mission at all, but her favorites were political. That was why Aviva had asked her Master to ask Anakin about taking her to meet with Grievous—she had aspirations of being a diplomat.

Up until the three of them reached Grievous's ship, there seemed to be nothing between Drin and Aviva that should not have been there—at that point, as soon as they saw the enormous Separatist Republic flagship, Anakin forgot everything that might have distracted him from his one goal, which was to act like a professional Jedi Knight who held no grudges. Pulling on his cloak, he turned to Drin and Aviva, who were sitting behind him in the cockpit.

"Remember, there's nothing you have to do," Anakin instructed them. "You're here to watch and listen and learn."

They nodded earnestly, identical nervous expressions on their faces. Neither of them had done anything of this importance before. Anakin saw this, and bit back a grin. "And don't worry," he added.

They boarded the flagship by use of a much smaller transport, the equivalent of a rowboat on an ocean ship. As soon as they entered Grievous's hangar, a door opened in the wall and a very tall human entered as well, wearing official robes and a neatly trimmed black beard.

"Master Skywalker," he said as he approached Anakin, bowing. His voice was as deep as his appearance suggested it would be. "We were expecting you. The General is most grateful that you would come to meet with him—and, of course, your apprentices as well," he added upon catching sight of Aviva and Drin.

Anakin returned the gesture. "I'm grateful that the General has time to meet with me," he replied, knowing full well that he would see nothing of Grievous on this mission.

"If you are willing, we can begin now," the man invited, "or if you would prefer time to rest—"

"No, thank you," Anakin swiftly demurred. For the next few hours, he could be the most diplomatic Knight that ever lived, fine, but he still wanted the whole experience behind him as soon as possible. "That's quite all right. We can begin."

With one final bow the man led them back through the door through which he had originally come. The halls of Grievous's ship were as Anakin would have expected them—the walls were starkly blank, making no attempt to hide the cold metal that most ship owners would have covered with paintings or cloth or decoration of some sort, and the hard steel floor loudly echoed the four's footsteps as they walked. When at length they reached a door that seemed in no way outstanding from the others they had passed, the Jedi's guide paused and held it open for them before entering himself.

This room in terms of décor hardly differed from the hallways but for the fair-sized round table in the center of its floor, which had around it eight chairs. Three of them were already occupied: a Gossam, a Rodian and a female woman with red hair held these places, looking up as the Jedi entered. Anakin sat directly across from them, and Aviva and Drin seated themselves on either side of him. Aviva sat up straight, eagerly waiting for talk to begin; Drin looked down at his lap.

"General Grievous is, unfortunately, unable to be here," their guide explained, now seated as well. "His work on Orest 6 has kept him very busy."

"As long as you directly represent Grievous, I have no problem with that," Anakin answered truthfully.

"Excellent. Then let's get down to business."

* * *

Several hours later, it could be concluded that the meeting had gone as well, and as monotonously, as could have been hoped. They were almost finished and Anakin could tell that while Aviva was still at least vaguely interested, Drin—no matter how changed he had become—was immensely bored. To his credit, it was a boredom that only his long-time teacher could sense.

"Excellent," the bearded man repeated. It was a word he seemed to enjoy using. "Now there is just one last item of business."

The woman beside him smiled knowingly, and from a pocket in her robes pulled out a small black case. She pushed it across the table at Anakin, who looked at it a moment before tucking it away under his belt.

"That contains a datachip with a message from the General to Chancellor Amidala," she said. "Its contents are of a delicate nature. General Grievous has strict orders that no hand must take it from yours but the Chancellor's."

"Far be it from me to disobey the General," Anakin replied, sounding perfectly sincere. Grievous's aides rose, Anakin followed, and Aviva and Drin quickly scrambled to their feet when they saw that it was allowed.

"It is late," the redhead remarked. "Rooms are available, if you and your apprentices would like to spend the night here."

"I thank you for your offer," Anakin said, "and General Grievous as well—but I'm afraid we must return to the Temple immediately."

"As you wish."

After one last round of courtesy bows, the three Jedi left the meeting room, walking back through the halls the way they had come. No one said much; all of them were tired after such a long day. As soon as they had boarded their own ship, Anakin instinctively touched his pocket to make sure the datachip was still safely there.

"You two can go get some sleep," he told the others. "I'll set the hyperspace coordinates."

They nodded wordlessly—Drin yawned—and left for their respective rooms. Anakin went to the cockpit and set their path toward Coruscant, then followed the other two Jedi back into the rest of the ship. By Coruscant Standard Time, it was nearly midnight, and Anakin was glad to fall into bed on a sleep couch next to Drin. Aviva had taken the room across the hallway.

He had no idea how long he was asleep, nor how far they had gone, when suddenly Anakin was jerked awake by an enormous jolt that shook the ship. Drin, already precariously close to the edge of his sleep couch, tumbled onto the floor. In the darkness, so suddenly torn from sleep, there was a moment of utter confusion for the both of them.

"Whazzat?" asked Drin blearily, sitting up. Anakin groped for his cloak.

"I don't know," he answered, blinking several times. "One second." He stood, pulling the cloak on, and left the room. Aviva was already standing in the lit hallway.

"Master Skywalker, what was that?" she asked, her voice worried.

"I'm not sure," Anakin reiterated. From behind, he heard Drin join them. "There might be a problem with the hyperspace generator. It's probably nothing, don't worry." He set off for the cockpit, Aviva and Drin trailing anxiously behind.

When Anakin stepped into that room, he saw immediately that something was wrong. The swift blue trails that curled around the ship, meaning they were in hyperspace, had gone, and in their place there was only hard, black space. A bewildered frown creased Anakin's forehead as he sat down at the controls.

"This can't be right—we can't be to Coruscant yet," he muttered to himself. But even before he heard the voice over the comm system, Anakin knew something was very wrong.

"Republic transport, do not move," ordered a rough, guttural voice, a man's voice. Aviva gasped, startled. "Do not attempt to enter hyperspace; we can easily prevent that. Prepare to be boarded."

"Blast it!" Anakin swore. He grabbed for the comm button. "There are Jedi on this ship," he warned the speaker. "Do not attempt to board—we are prepared to fight."

"Republic transport, prepare to be boarded," repeated the voice, sounding almost gleeful. Then communication was cut off.

"We are?" Drin demanded. His voice had suddenly upped an octave.

"Can't we run away?" asked Aviva. "Who are these people, anyway?" Anakin shook his head.

"Pirates," he answered tersely. "And no, they've got a tractor beam on us. That's what yanked us out of hyperspace." Why they were even attacking this transport, Anakin had no idea. Probably they thought there might have been a senator on board worth holding for ransom. Not that it mattered; there was nothing on board important enough to steal…

Anakin stiffened, and his hand went again to the datachip. _Blasted pirates,_ he thought fervently. The chances of the pirates actually getting anywhere near enough to Anakin to steal the datachip—of _all _things—was virtually nothing. And yet, he knew well enough what Master Yoda, Windu, even Obi-Wan would have done.

Pulling the datachip from his pocket, Anakin eyed the two apprentices standing behind him. Drin was closest—Anakin shoved the chip into his hand.

"Wha—?"

"I need you to take this into the escape pod," Anakin ordered. Drin's eyes widened very suddenly. "Seal the door and don't open it unless you hear me call you. Only, _only_ jettison it if I don't come for you in twenty minutes. Understand?"

Drin nodded, but he didn't move until Anakin gave him a little shove. "It probably won't take me more than five minutes," he reassured him hastily. "Now go."

The Padawan ran out of the cockpit, clutching the chip in his hand. Anakin sat down at the controls.

"They must be about to come on board," he said; his voice was determinedly calm. "I can break their tractor beam—it can't be very strong—but it'll take me a few minutes. Hang on."

Aviva sank into the copilot's chair and strapped on her crash webbing, only just in time before Anakin gave the engine free rein, pushing it forward to its limit. The quiet humming became a dull roar, sending shudders through the transport. The whole ship was straining furiously against the tractor beam's pull.

"Almost," Anakin grunted. "I felt it give…" He pushed it again, somehow even harder this time, and with a great heave the transport broke free, even as Aviva heard the first scrapings of the pirates' ship against theirs. Breathless, Anakin pulled a lever, and stars streaked past the cockpit and then disappeared.

Leaning back, he ran a hand through his hair. "Well, that was a nice little adventure," he remarked mirthlessly. Aviva gave a little laugh, relieved nervousness clear in its ring.

Suddenly remembering, Anakin went back into the rest of the ship and stopped in front of the escape pod door. "Drin, it's ok," he called. "You can come out."

He waited for a moment. There was no answer, and the door did not open.

"Drin? Come on! The pirates are gone."

Still nothing. Maybe Drin couldn't hear him. Perplexed, Anakin tried to open the door himself—but no matter how many times he pressed the button, nothing happened. About then, he realized what had happened.

"Oh, you are kriffing kidding me," he groaned to the door, which did not answer. He turned and went swiftly back to the cockpit.

"We've got to stop the ship," he said grimly.

"What? Why?" Aviva asked. Sitting down, Anakin took them out of hyperspace again. By now, they had left the pirates far behind. "Is there a problem?"

"Yeah," said Anakin shortly. "Drin jettisoned the pod, and although right now I'm tempted, we probably can't just abandon him."

"But it wasn't even ten minutes!" Aviva protested.

"Which is precisely the reason I'm tempted to leave him stranded. He probably panicked, the idiot." Anakin sat a moment, thinking, then set the new coordinates. "This might take a while longer than expected. We're going to Tatooine."


	28. Old Friends

It was a worrying thought that the pirates might still be waiting for them in Tatooine's atmosphere, but it was a necessary risk, and luck was with them—the pirates' ship was nowhere to be seen. Instead, there was only the sandy brown of Tatooine's surface.

"It would help if we knew where we were before," Anakin murmured. Aviva, sitting beside him, shrugged helplessly.

"All space looks alike to me," she admitted with a wry smile. Anakin grinned in spite of himself.

"We'll just have to land and look around," he decided.

"Couldn't you find him?" asked Aviva. "I know you and he spend a lot of time together."

Anakin considered this. The idea of Drin and himself forming a bond had never occurred to him. It was worth a try, he decided—but when he stretched out with his mind, encompassing Tatooine in a thin veil of the Force, all he felt of Drin's presence was a faint coldness, not nearly strong enough to guess at a location.

"Somebody must have seen the pod land," he pointed out, but there was more hopefulness in his voice than certainty. The futility of searching for one lost fifteen-year-old on a planet populated only halfway was beginning to sink in. Although this was hardly the time for it, Anakin glanced over at Aviva. "You couldn't sense him, could you?"

She shook her head. "We were never that close. I knew him, but we only spoke a couple times."

_Good for you, Drin,_ was Anakin's immediate pleased thought.

They landed in what appeared to be the middle of nowhere, high dunes rising around their ship. Despite the midday heat Anakin grabbed his cloak from his room, and Aviva, seeing this, followed suit. He knew from long experience that, while Jedi were not necessarily shunned on Tatooine, they were not always welcome either.

"You grew up here, didn't you, Master Skywalker?" asked Aviva. "Is there anyplace nearby we could look?"

Anakin thought. The problem was that sand, no matter how long you had lived in it, looked exactly the same from one place to the next. Looking up at the sky, he sent a tendril of the Force sweeping across the dunes. At first, there was only harsh, dead sand; he kept going, and then was rewarded with the sensation of life—a lot of it.

"I think there's a city, maybe five miles from here," he said at last. "It's a starting point, anyway. Can you make it?" Tatooine was deceptively void of any visible enemies, but just those two suns had dragged more than their fair share of victims. Aviva's forehead creased.

"Of course," she said, almost as though he had insulted her. They set out walking together; Anakin, already frustrated, thought to himself that this chip had better be extremely important for all the trouble they were going through to transport it.

The interminable heat was an inescapable fact of Tatooine. Even for Jedi, trained to withstand even the most brutal circumstances, it was growing more difficult by the minute to keep walking. Of the two, it was easier for Anakin, who had grown up among these sands and who was older and stronger. Once or twice he saw Aviva begin to fall behind, sweat beading on her forehead, but she never complained or asked him to wait. Her lips were stubbornly tight, as though asking for help were a breach of code.

It felt as though they had been walking for hours, though it had probably only been about one, when Anakin felt the city marvelously close. Straining his eyes, he could see its walls, tiny on the horizon, set in the crags of a cliff.

"We're almost there," he said to Aviva, pausing for a moment in his stride. "If we're on the right side of the planet, someone must have seen—"

"Master Skywalker, _look_!"

He turned, then followed the point of Aviva's finger. There, behind a sand dune only fifty yards away, he could see the glint of polished metal. Breathless, they both ran toward it, exhaustion suddenly forgotten.

"That's it," said Anakin as soon as they'd cleared the dune. "Good work."

"Do you think he's still inside?" asked Aviva anxiously.

"I hope so." All escape pods were stocked with protein cubes and water, enough for several days' worth of sustenance. There would have been absolutely no reason for Drin to leave its shelter, not after just a few hours. Anakin walked up to it, glad for the momentary shade the pod provided, and knocked, his heart in his mouth. "Drin?"

But no sound issued from within, and the door did not open. To his credit, Anakin swore only mentally, though it wasn't quite as satisfying that way.

"He might have gone to the city," Aviva suggested. "If he saw it."

"It makes sense," Anakin agreed. With time his temper had begun to cool, and he was beginning to feel some sympathy for Drin, alone on a strange, hostile planet and entrusted with a microchip that was supposedly extremely important. Things were bad enough—in Drin's fifteen-year-old mind, they had probably been magnified a dozen times.

They grew closer to the city, and Anakin frowned. That couldn't be a city, could it? It was too small, and its buildings were much higher than Tatooine buildings usually went. Then again, he hadn't been on this planet for a long while. Perhaps he was mistaken…

The sand underneath their feet was growing harder and more packed the further they walked, to form what could have almost been a road. Here and there Anakin could see shallow indentions in the dirt, perhaps the footprints of beasts of burden, like eopies or banthas. He kicked idly at a rock lying on the ground, still wondering at the back of his mind which city this could be. He certainly didn't recognize—

A terrified, high-pitched shriek jerked him out of his thoughts. Anakin whirled to see Aviva hit the dirt, and from a hole in the ground had appeared a large, toad-like creature, its long tongue wrapped tightly around her ankle. It was pulling her, hard, toward a gaping mouth full of needle-sharp teeth.

She screamed again, kicking, and before anything else had time to happen, Anakin's lightsaber sliced through the creature's tongue. With a rattling keen of pain, the animal ducked down into its subterranean hideout again, and Anakin deactivated his lightsaber. He knelt beside Aviva.

"You all right?" he asked. She nodded, breathless, inching away from the severed tongue. "What about your leg?"

"It's fine," she assured him. "It doesn't hurt."

"What happened?"

"I—I stepped in one of those things," Aviva choked out, pointing to what Anakin had thought were animal prints.

"Yeah, avoid those," Anakin advised her unnecessarily. He made to stand, then froze, looking down to where the creature had disappeared again. An expression of disbelief crossed his face. "That was a worrt."

Aviva blinked. "A what?"

"I know where we are," Anakin said heavily. Standing, he helped Aviva to her feet. "And it's not a good place, either."

"What?" said Aviva again. "Master Skywalker, where are we?"

Anakin looked once more at those walls, tucked neatly into the rocks around them, then back at Aviva. "Have you ever heard of Jabba the Hutt?"

* * *

There were no footprints leading up to Jabba's palace from the pod, but that meant nothing, what with the desert winds that swept constantly over the sands. They walked until they reached the gate.

"Are you sure this is the way in?" Aviva asked. Her doubts were understandable—the entrance was enormous, seeming more like another wall than anything else. Anakin had never been to this place before, but he could sense the empty hallway beyond the gate, which was good for two reasons: it meant that he knew that this was, in fact, the way to get inside, and it meant that there was no one waiting behind the door with a blaster.

"I'm pretty sure," Anakin answered. He stepped forward and placed an experimental hand on the door, trying to figure out how it opened. No sooner did his palm touch the stone, however, than a small, round section of the gate opened up and what looked like a large mechanical eye emerged from it.

With a series of beeps and whistles, it looked from Anakin to Aviva and back again, scrutinizing them with quick precision. Though Anakin didn't speak Droid—and he was now beginning to wish that he'd brought an R4 unit from the ship with him to translate—he could make a guess at what it was saying.

"I'm here to speak with Jabba," he said loudly, feeling a tiny bit silly for talking to an eyeball, which, by definition, should not be able to hear him. The droid made a few more noises, none of which sounded promising. "Please, it's important."

He tried again in Huttese, which gave him no different results. The droid retreated as swiftly as it had come into its hole, as so many things seemed wont to do today. Very few in existence had enough power that they were able to dismiss Jedi with such nonchalance.

"Wait!" Anakin shouted. Desperation made him do something he'd wanted to avoid. "My name is Anakin Skywalker, and I need to speak with Jabba the Hutt immediately!"

The droid did not reappear, and Anakin stepped back, disheartened. "We'll have to find another way in," he said to Aviva, who was beginning to look worried. But without warning, almost even before he had finished speaking, a grinding sound reached their ears, and the gate began to open, revealing a dark and musty hallway several meters wide.

"Come on," Anakin said, his voice hushed slightly, and they entered.

He walked with his shoulders straight, an expression of determination on his face. Both Jedi knew that fear was bait to minions of the underworld, and Anakin was glad that Aviva had enough sense to imitate him, even though he could sense the nervous uncertainty in her mind.

But even as Anakin walked, he felt something so cold that it burned settle in his stomach—fear, such a foreign sensation that it took him a moment to recognize it. Jabba had always been an entity of fear on Tatooine, looking down at the pod races he attended with huge, indolent eyes. The power he wielded was horrifying in its enormity, and though everyone knew that he was helpless without his hired guns, that didn't stop the quiet terror that seeped into their subconscious.

Jabba was a childhood fear, one that Anakin had never had the chance to overcome—but he also presented a much more real danger. Anakin had never once had any doubts about visiting Watto after so many years, although he knew the junk dealer would have given both his wings to have the young man back in his possession. Jabba, on the other hand…there had been rumors, just before Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan had taken him away, that the Hutt was planning to make a bid on Anakin, and Watto would not have dared refuse.

That was the reason Anakin had been reluctant to give his name—he could not help wondering, foolish as it might have been, if Jabba still wanted the universe's only human podracer, and what the Hutt would be willing to do to get him. The worry was only amplified by the fact that it was apparently Anakin's name which had gotten them inside.

From the shadows before them, a figure appeared, taking slow, cautious steps. It was a moment before Anakin recognized the pale, dark-robed Twi'lek that had always stood beside Jabba at the races, whispering in his ear. His slitted eyes took in their robes, and the lightsabers at their belts.

"Master Jedi," he greeted them softly. "My lord Jabba is not seeing visitors right now."

"It's a matter of great importance," Anakin returned. "I'm sure your master will understand."

"I am afraid that to gain access to Jabba now is impossible," said the Twi'lek, his voice low and almost akin to a snake's hiss. His name was on the tip of Anakin's tongue—Fortune, or Fortuna—though it wasn't exactly necessary.

"But I'm sure," Anakin repeated, stressing the last word, "that Jabba will understand." The fingers of his right hand made a movement so small that Aviva just barely caught it. The Twi'lek's eyes blanked for a moment, then refocused.

"I will speak to my lord," he agreed. "Come with me."

They were led further down the hallway, tiny puffs of dust rising from the ground with every step they took. For the first time, Anakin noticed the faintest strains of what might have been music, and a glance at Aviva's face told him that she'd heard it as well. At last, they reached a small set of steps that wound around the wall, so they could not see where it led. The Jedi followed the Twi'lek down these, and then, quite suddenly, they had reached Jabba's inner sanctum.

The music they had heard earlier—if you could call it that—was much louder in here, coupled with the noises of several creatures talking all at once in several different languages. The room seemed torn between garish color and bleak neutrals, allowing glimpses of a dancer dressed in brassy yellow amidst a sea of dirt brown, or a girl with deep purple skin against the dull gray of the walls.

Every sort of being seemed to be here—Aviva's eyes were wide as she took in a million things she had never seen before. Anakin, who remembered all this decadence from long ago, noticed more the numerous bounty hunters who stood lazily against the walls, becoming suddenly alert when Jedi entered their den. And in the middle of all this was Jabba.

The god in slug form lay upon his repulsor sled with his eyes shut, apparently unbothered by the deafening cacophony around him, slime dribbling from the corner of his wide, toothless mouth. Surrounding him was a medley of various creatures, from a silver-coated protocol droid to a Kowakian monkey-lizard on a leash to a vaguely-dressed human woman who leaned against the sleeping mountain of blubber, playing idly with a strand of dark hair. Picking his way around these, the Twi'lek approached Jabba and whispered something into his ear. With a start, the Hutt awoke.

Though Anakin had not had cause to use the Huttese language in some time, he still remembered most of what he had learned when he was nine. He couldn't hear everything the two aliens were saying, but he could pick up bits. Anakin's own name was mentioned a few times…and they were arguing about something, no doubt the visitors. Then the Twi'lek was rushing toward them with shuffling steps.

"Jabba will not speak to you now," he whispered. "He does not wish—"

"_Jabba,_" said Anakin suddenly, breaking into Huttese, "_I'm looking for someone, a boy. Have you seen him?_"

The Twi'lek's eyes widened at this breach of protocol, but Jabba answered for himself. At the sound of his booming voice, the music died away, and conversations trailed off across the room.

"_Get out, Jedi,_" the Hutt ordered, temper rising. "_You are not wanted here._"

Poor Aviva looked quite bewildered, but there was no time to translate for her.

"_You don't remember me, Great One?_" The obeisance slipped from Anakin's tongue automatically—it was second nature for those who had dealings with Hutts to pander to them. "_Not after that deal you made with Watto all those years ago? I earned you a lot that day._"

That had been a long time ago when Watto, deep in debt to the Hutt, had offered as his last hope all of his slave's winnings in the next race. In what had been one of the closest races of his lives, and probably the second most important, Anakin had saved Watto's hide and given Jabba far more than what Watto originally owed.

The Jedi could almost see the thoughts running through Jabba's mind, trying to connect the Toydarian with this stranger that had come bursting in. Then suddenly his eyes flickered, and a great, hefty chuckle burst from his mouth.

"_Little Skywalker, the racer,"_ Jabba laughed. "_I heard you had left Tatooine for good_."

"_I came back. Now, can you help me?_"

To Anakin's surprise, Jabba shook his head. "_I have not seen your boy,_" he admitted. "_Surely a Jedi can find his own student._"

"_Not mine, but another's,_" answered Anakin. "_The_ _girl and he are in my care for the time being._"

"_Ah,_" said Jabba softly. "_A shame._" His reptilian eyes stared with blatant covetousness in Aviva's direction, and Anakin knew he wasn't talking about Drin. With one hand, in what appeared as a casual move, he took Aviva's arm and moved her to stand behind him. Jabba's odd penchant for beautiful humanoid women was legendary among those who knew him.

"_Are you certain you have not seen him?_" Anakin asked, steering the discussion back on track. "_You do not know where he is?_"

All through the conversation, the Twi'lek who had led them here stood between Jabba and Anakin, twisting his hands nervously. At this, he stepped up quickly onto Jabba's repulsor sled and whispered something again into the Hutt's ear. Around this time, Anakin felt an urgent tugging on his sleeve.

"Master Skywalker, what's going on?" Aviva asked. "What are you saying to him? Do we know where Drin is yet?"

Anakin shook his head. "Not yet," he said, keeping his voice low. Jabba could understand Basic, though the Hutt tongue was the only one he was capable of speaking. "Don't worry, though, we'll find him."

"_It seems I do know where this student of yours is after all,_" Jabba said suddenly. Anakin's attention jerked immediately to him. "_My guards found him trespassing in my palace, and threw him in the dungeons without my knowledge. You are free to release him, Jedi._"

Anakin breathed a heartfelt sigh of relief. "Da loda nadda. _Thank you, Exalted One,_" he said fervently. Apparently finished talking for the day, Jabba's eyes closed once again without another word, and Anakin and Aviva were free to go.

"Well?" demanded Aviva as Anakin, guessing as to the direction of the dungeons, led her down a narrow and winding staircase. "_Now_ do we know where he is?"

"Yes," Anakin said breathlessly. "He's down here, I think." At last the stairs ended, and they found themselves at the head of a long hallway, with several doors embedded into the sand-scarred walls. It was extremely dark down here, with only a few solitary glo-lamps hanging precariously from the ceiling. Rather than look in each cell, Anakin stayed where he was and called Drin's name yet again, very loudly. Finally, he got an answer.

"Anakin?" The voice was faint, but unmistakable. Anakin and Aviva rushed toward the noise. The door was, of course, locked, but within a few seconds the Force had helped Anakin divine the five-digit key code. The door slid open, and Drin tumbled out. The words poured out of his mouth, rushed and relieved.

"_Anakin_, I didn't think you'd be able to find me, I was afraid they'd just forget me down here, I was trying to contact you but I couldn't and then I started looking around because I thought if I fou—"

"Drin, for the love of the Force, shut up," Anakin said firmly. "It's ok now."

The boy nodded shakily, then fumbled at his belt for a moment before shoving the microchip into Anakin's hand. Anakin had completely forgotten about the kriffing thing. He took it and shoved it grumpily into his pocket, then took Drin by the shoulders.

"You're not hurt, right?" he asked, his tone concerned. "They didn't hurt you or do anything to you?"

Slowly, Drin shook his head. "No, not really."

"Good." Straightening, Anakin's voice changed dramatically to one of righteous anger. "When we get home, you're going to be doing a lot of work on patience. And keeping your head under pressure. And you're on refresher duty for two weeks."

"_What?_"

"I don't know what you thought you were supposed to be doing up there, but jettisoning the pod after five minutes was not it. You're just lucky I don't make it a month!"

Drin's mouth twisted unpleasantly, but he nodded, knowing Anakin would do it. Having sufficiently vented his frustration, Anakin took a deep breath and looked around.

"All right, so we've got to get back to the ship. Just stay close to me, both of you. And Aviva—"

He reached out with two fingers and jerked the hood of her cloak over her head, effectively hiding most of her face. She frowned, confused. "What's that for?"

"Avoiding trouble," Anakin answered cryptically. "Now come on."

They set off walking up the stairs again, the two Padawans behind the Knight. Anakin could hear them murmuring to each other, Aviva accusing and Drin defending. He knew Drin was more shaken than he would let on, which was the only reason Anakin had let him off so easily.

They went back through the den of iniquity, which seemed to have already forgotten their existence, and through the gate once more, unbothered by the guards. As soon as they were back outside on the hot sands, Anakin breathed a great sigh of relief. Just the thought of that place made his skin crawl; there the Hutt had sat for hundreds of years, and there he would sit for hundreds more, surrounded by decadence and filth. Nothing ever changed on Tatooine.

"Come on," he said, pausing for a moment to let the sun warm him. "Let's go back to Coruscant."


	29. The Presence and Absence of Fear

About the time that Drin turned sixteen, Anakin started having trouble sleeping. It wasn't every night, and it wasn't terribly inconvenient, but it annoyed him all the same. Every so often that he tried to drop off to sleep, something would flash in his mind—a darkness, split-second—and his eyes would fly open. Sometimes it would not happen for weeks; often it could happen five or six times in a night.

After one such night, Drin came over for lessons as usual, but Anakin had a harder time concentrating, not only from the loss of a few hours of sleep but the unavoidable wondering of where these distractions came from. Drin, of course, noticed and inquired.

"It's nothing," Anakin answered. "I just haven't been sleeping very well lately."

"Really?" said Drin, frowning as he tossed a lock of hair out of his eyes. "Why?"

Anakin hesitated a moment, unsure of what to say. After a few seconds, he gave up trying to think of any other way to put it. "I've sensed traces of the Dark Side around the Temple for a couple weeks now. I don't know what it is, but it keeps flashing in my head and it's keeping me awake."

Drin's eyelids flickered. "The Dark Side? Are you sure?"

The doubt in his voice caused Anakin to look at him askance. "You think I'm imagining it?"

"I didn't say that," said Drin quickly. "But I mean, it couldn't be a Jedi using the Dark Side. And no one on the Council has felt it, have they?"

Slowly, Anakin shook his head. "I don't think so," he said. "Master Windu…" He broke off, not wanting to discuss it any further. Windu had believed that these flashes of darkness which interrupted Anakin's dreams were more visions, but Anakin had protested. Though he had not had a vision since Palpatine's downfall, more than two years ago, he still remembered their feel and knew that this was something else.

"It's nothing," Anakin repeated, shaking his head. Moving on, he remembered something he'd wanted to tell Drin. "By the way, there won't be any lessons for a few days."

"What? Why not?"

"Because I leave tomorrow for Aridius," Anakin said. "There's a shipment of something going to Grievous from there, and he wants an escort for it. Whatever it is, it's expensive. I probably won't be back for at least two weeks, since it's got to go all the way to Orest 6."

Drin's gaze reflected disappointment. "But what am I supposed to do?" he asked. "Master Brun won't be back for another four days!"

Ka'ela Brun had been assigned to follow up an earlier diplomatic mission, and for whatever reason had decided to leave Drin behind. Anakin shrugged, but before he could say anything, Drin seemed possessed of an idea. "Can I come with you?"

This was so unexpected that Anakin forgot to answer for a moment. "I…guess you could," he admitted after a moment. "But you'd have to leave a message with someone so your Master knows where you are."

Drin nodded. "Okay. I can tell Master Restus. She's always talking to my Master."

"You might get bored," Anakin warned. Drin shrugged.

"It can't be any worse than staying here. I'll go pack."

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

A day and a half later, they had landed on Aridius, the technological planet of the Core. Though the docking bays were crowded, Anakin, with Drin trailing closely behind, managed to find the ship bound for Orest 6 without much trouble. It was the only starship not bearing the Republic insignia.

Standing beside its open portal was a portly Bothan, an ambitiously tight purple tunic stretched over his black, furry skin. He held a datapad in his hands, scribbling on it from time to time as laborers walked past him and up the ramp, bearing between themselves heavy, unmarked boxes. As the Jedi approached, he looked up from his datapad.

"That's everything," he said breathlessly, to no one in particular, and his harried expression relaxed a bit. When his gaze fell upon Anakin and Drin, the harried expression returned. "Master Jedi, I'm so glad to see you've arrived safely!"

He didn't look it, but Anakin, suppressing a smile, did not comment. "I'm glad to finally meet you, sir," he said. "I am Master Skywalker, and this is my…" Anakin hesitated a moment, unsure. "…my friend, Drin Audris."

"A pleasure, I'm sure," said the Bothan. "My name is Dokola; General Grievous handpicked me to transport this shipment, so you can understand if I want to ensure its safety."

"Of course," said Anakin, moving casually out of the way as a laborer barreled down the ramp, his work done. "Can I ask exactly what it is that the General needs?"

"Computer chips," said Dokola. "The most advanced technology we have. Each one is worth its weight in whatever you'd care to name."

"Really?" Anakin said, interested. "Do you know why he needs them?"

"A new base, I've heard," Dokola said, shrugging, "but I'm hardly privy to the General's affairs. All I ask is that you manage to keep these from being stolen."

"Have you had problems with thieves before?"

"Oh, yes, especially in the air," Dokola assured him. "Pirates, you know. We've been doing a lot of trafficking between here and Orest 6, though this is the most valuable cargo the General has needed yet."

Checking his wrist chronometer, the Bothan suddenly grew serious. "I've still got some things to check," he told them, "but you can get onboard and find yourself a room. There's just myself and the pilot besides yourselves."

"Thank you very much for your trouble," Anakin said. He nodded at Drin, and they boarded. The ship was designed in the same way as a Republic transport ship, so the Jedi had no problems finding an empty room with two bunks. Drin, who'd been in charge of the luggage, let their case drop on the floor and sat down heavily on what was apparently _his_ bunk.

"That's it?" he asked. "All we get to do is sit on a ship for two weeks?"

"Hey, no complaining," warned Anakin. "I told you it would be boring. You don't feel like listening to me, that's what you get." He sat down on the bed opposite Drin, eyeing his pupil critically. "You could use the practice time, anyway. Your Master told me that your grades are slipping in Force Studies."

"Only a little," Drin defended himself.

"More than they should be," Anakin returned. "Have you been meditating?"

"Yes."

"At least an hour a day?"

"More than that."

Anakin looked askance at him, but sensed no deceit. "All right, then," he said slowly. "Try again, with me here."

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Because there wasn't much to do on the ship, they spent a good deal of the time Force-working. Anakin was perplexed: there was a hesitation in Drin's mind that had not always been there, acting as a block against a true connection to the living Force. He could still levitate pillows and datapads, still jump and run with the help of the Force, but that was fast growing to be the extent of his abilities.

Anakin could not tell what was causing this decline, and neither apparently could Drin, judging by the powerful frustration with which he met every failure. There was nothing he could do, therefore, except to encourage and hope that Drin would catch on eventually.

This, however, did not appear to be happening anytime soon, and by the time the ship had finally landed on Orest 6, both Jedi were glad of it. Far from a pirate attack, the trip could not have gone more smoothly, and they both knew that their presence had not been needed. That fact, coupled with Drin's sudden difficulty, caused tensions to rise.

"I'm sorry to have brought you all this way for nothing," Dokola apologized to them as they left the ship. "But after all, one really can't be too careful with equipment like this."

"No, you really can't," Anakin agreed blandly. Almost before they had reached the end of the ramp, more workers swarmed the ship, unloading its cargo quickly. Whatever else could have been said about Dokola, he was certainly efficient.

It was dusk here, the sun swiftly falling behind newly-erected buildings. The Bothan looked up at the sky.

"The ship will need to be serviced and refueled," he said, "after everything's been sent to the General's worksite. We should be able to leave by tomorrow morning. You both are quite welcome to stay on the ship overnight, or else you could find a place in the city."

"We'll probably just stay here," Anakin decided. "Thank you for the offer."

"Quite. If you'll excuse me, I've just got to check…" Dokola's voice trailed off as he moved away in the direction of the unloaded computer chips, leaving Anakin and Drin alone.

"Can't we go into the city?" asked Drin.

"It's just easier to stay here," Anakin replied. "Besides, I don't think we've got anything besides pocket change, which is hardly enough for a hotel room."

"Can we just go and look around, then?"

"I guess that would be…" But Anakin's answer was interrupted by the sound of footsteps running toward them and panicked voice shouting, "Master Skywalker!" He turned, to see Dokola careening in their direction, panting for breath.

"Master Skywalker—most awful—_stolen—_!"

"What?" Anakin asked, understandably confused.

In less than a minute they'd managed to get the story out of him coherently. Dokola had gone to triple-check the safety of his cargo and had found a recipe for disaster: one of the boxes torn open, carefully packed chips strewn around their carton, and a worker missing. By the Bothan's guess, he must have taken at least ten thousand credits worth of datachips.

Poor Dokola was almost hyperventilating with panic, bemoaning his misfortune and cursing cheap labor. The Jedi were in no position to sit around and listen, however. As soon as they had managed to understand the problem, Anakin looked up, every sense alert.

"There's fear," he murmured. "This way."

He set off running in the direction of the city, and Drin, trusting him, followed. The sky was fast darkening, but Anakin held onto the thread of the Force he had found, which tingled with panic and adrenaline. A spur-of-the-moment decision, then—one that the laborer probably already regretted. But no, if he escaped the Jedi, if he sold the chips, he would be rich for years—!

Anakin pulled back slightly; even those not sensitive to the Force could sometimes tell if a Jedi ventured too far into their minds. They were almost down the hill on the road that led to Grievous's city, almost to the maze of buildings. Anakin skidded to a halt, not bothering to look around; the Force was his eyes as he thought.

"Go down past three streets and turn left into the fourth," he ordered Drin hurriedly. "I'll go around the other way."

Drin nodded and immediately set off in the direction Anakin had indicated. Anakin himself took a different route, one that would allow him to reach the same street as Drin by another entrance, effectively cornering the fugitive. He ran, his feet slamming down upon the packed streets—but as he neared his destination, he heard a loud, wordless cry, and his pace quickened nervously.

Anakin reached the alley where he'd felt the worker's presence; it was long and narrow, so dark that he could see neither Drin nor his quarry. High buildings rose up on either side of him, blocking the last meager shreds of daylight. Empty crates were piled along the walls, beady rodent eyes peering out from between the rotting slats. Anakin took a breath—something was very wrong in the Force.

"Drin?" he called in a low voice, and a voice answered that was not Drin's.

"Back off, Jedi," demanded a growl. Anakin's head shot up—there, toward the other end of the alley, was Drin, barely visible in the shadows. The missing laborer was standing directly behind him, and—Anakin's heart seemed to stop—holding a short industrial blade to the Padawan's neck.

"Let him go," Anakin breathed, almost choking on the words.

"You go back to your ship and leave me 'lone, Jedi, and I'll let him go." The blade pushed closer to Drin's throat. "I ain't going to prison."

There was still fear in his presence, but desperate defiance as well, for he held a known advantage. Terror like Anakin could not ever remember feeling thudded through him with every second—the Force could not take Drin, could not, when it had taken almost everyone else. No, not Drin.

"You don't want to do this," Anakin said, somehow managing to speak and sound reasonably calm. Taking a step forward, he eyed the man. Medium height, lanky build… "You're only hurting yourself."

"I said back off!" shouted the worker.

Strange, Anakin thought dimly, that of all people here Drin was the most entitled to show fear, and yet there was nothing remotely resembling it in his expression. He stood as still as a statue, not a muscle twitching, but in the fast-rising moonlight Anakin could see white-faced fury in the Padawan's features.

"The penalty for theft is much lighter than for murder," Anakin said softly, but he could already tell that negotiation was useless. The man's confidence was growing, his fear beginning to recede, so that with every passing moment he only grew cockier. It would have been the work of a moment for Anakin to pull out his lightsaber and attack, but such blatant violence was a last resort, though such a contingency was drawing ever closer. From what few options he had, Anakin made a split-second decision.

"Fine," he conceded, backing slowly away. "You win."

The worker's grip relaxed in relief, only a fraction, but it was enough. Anakin shouted at his pupil, "Drin, _move_!" and grabbed hold of one of the nearby crates with the Force in the same instant, sending it flying toward the man. Drin ducked out of his captor's grip at once, but the laborer, panicking, grabbed for him, and the crate smashed into the wall uselessly. The knife flashed in the moonlight, and before Anakin had time to react a long, red stripe had appeared on Drin's forearm. The Padawan cried out again, and the man took his chance to escape.

Anakin ran after him, expecting to leave Drin behind—but even as he ran, he felt a wave of rage explode from the Padawan's direction, so powerful that Anakin, not expecting it, stumbled and almost fell. The fugitive was thrown off his feet and went rolling in the street, stolen chips tumbling from his pockets and scattering on the stones, and no sooner was he down than Drin was upon him.

The Padawan pinned him to the ground, knees upon his chest and hands at his throat. Blood dripped from the cut on his arm onto the man's face, but Drin seemed not to notice, nor to hear his captive's pleas for mercy. He was trembling visibly with anger, so powerful to sense that it almost frightened Anakin.

"Drin, get up," he ordered through clenched teeth, moving closer to the morbid scene. The man's cries—the only sound in the darkness—were growing hoarse and weak, his limbs jerking spasmodically. But either Drin did not hear his teacher or he did not care. Their ultimate goal, the computer chips, was there for the taking, but Drin did not look at them once. Noiselessly a drop of blood spattered onto the man's cheek—his eyes fluttered closed.

"You're killing him!" Anakin hesitated only a second, waiting for the effect he knew his words would not have, before he roughly grabbed Drin's hands and forced them away from the worker's neck. Their eyes met, Anakin's disbelieving and Drin's hard.

Difficult though it may have been to make a surrendering gesture look defiant, Drin managed it as he stood up and took a step back. "He threatened me," the Padawan said by way of explanation, his tone unrepentant.

Anakin's lightsaber split the shadows. "You're a Jedi," he said shortly. "You're going to have to get used to that."

With his weapon at the worker's back, it wasn't difficult to persuade the man to return to the ship. Drin gathered up the computer chips at Anakin's command, and together they made the short walk back up the hill.

Dokola, still waiting anxiously outdoors, was relieved beyond words when his precious cargo was returned to him. Anakin, who sensed only honest terror and not treachery, allowed the worker to go his own way after a severe warning. The episode ended so easily as to be almost anticlimactic, but—

But Anakin could not help remembering the wrathful look upon Drin's face, and his thumbs pressed to the man's windpipe, and doubts filled him every time the thought entered his mind. Drin was a Jedi, dedicated to the ideal of the living Force. That ought to be the end of it…but whatever it was, it had not been the living Force that had fueled Drin tonight.

Anakin could not look at Drin from that moment on without wondering, even when sitting beside him and gently bandaging his wounded arm. They slept on the ship that night, and Anakin did not say a word to his pupil as they both prepared for bed. For once, he was at a complete loss.

By the time they returned to the Temple, for whatever reason, Anakin no longer had trouble sleeping.


	30. Suspicions and Tensions Rise

"Step on your _right_ leg, kick out with your _left_!" called Master Vada over the noise of twenty-odd Padawans grunting and muttering to themselves, a few of whom hastily changed their weight. In the enormous training room, there were only themselves, the teacher, and a few Knights gathered around the walls to watch. Anakin was among them, watching Drin thrust his way through several katas.

He would have liked to say that he had come to encourage his pupil, or to help give instruction, but the truth was that he was just bored. There was no denying, though, the aptitude with which Drin took to this part of his training.

"Very good, very good," said Master Vada. "All right, everyone, take out your lightsabers and choose a partner for the _Tast _combats."

Anakin watched with mild interest as Drin immediately reached for his nearest friend, a gangly kid with red hair and freckles. The Padawan probably would have chosen Aviva if he'd had the chance, but she was older and taking more advanced classes.

"As you know, or ought to, " added Master Vada dryly, "the _Tast_ combats are choreographed battles between two people, both of whom armed with a lightsaber. The word 'Tast' in Iklang—am I boring you, Padawan Audris?"

Drin looked up from a low conversation with Red-Haired Boy, hastily arranging his face into a penitent expression. "No, Master," he answered. "Forgive me."

"Very well, then. As I was saying," the Knight continued, "the word 'Tast' in Iklang literally means 'dance'. Every step you take, every move you make, is already plotted out for you, as in a dance. You and your partner must complete the exercise as a team, and that is the reason that this is an exercise of trust. A misstep will cause your partner to falter, possibly injuring themselves. It is up to you to protect them by fulfilling your part of the combat."

He looked around the room for a moment, ensuring that he had everyone's attention, then waved a hand. "Decide with your partner which part you will take in your chosen combat, then prepare yourselves and wait for my signal."

There was a moment of whispering—there were several combats to choose from, and most Padawans generally coveted the offensive part—and then, one by one, the apprentices settled into basic starting positions, facing their partners.

"And…begin!"

The _Tast_ combats, when performed by experienced Jedi, were a treat to watch. Being choreographed, they were made to require more grace than an ordinary fight, and were indeed quite reminiscent of a dance. Of course, when performed by a group of Padawans, the combats tended to lose some of their innate elegance.

Anakin's eyes found Drin again. He knew every step, but he was overcompensating, anticipating his partner's move before he made it. It was a physical version of interrupting someone in the middle of a sentence, and disrespectful.

But even as the disapproving thought crossed Anakin's mind, Drin's speed increased. Red-Haired Boy was obviously struggling, but Drin seemed lost in his own battle. Increasingly hard-pressed to keep up, his partner's swings grew wilder and larger with every pass they made, and Drin only grew more controlling. The situation was becoming dangerous—Anakin opened his mouth to utter a warning, and then a cry of pain caused the other Padawans to falter and look around, and Drin fell backwards onto the floor, clutching his shoulder.

Red-Haired Boy looked petrified, as though he had killed instead of wounded. Anakin, without thinking, ran forward to reassure him, saying, "It's not your fault, don't worry." The kid, seeing that Drin appeared to be very much alive and angry, nodded and backed away.

"Is he all right?" asked Master Vada, coming up behind Anakin. Gently, Anakin pried Drin's fingers away from the injury.

"It's just a burn," he replied. "Nothing life-threatening, but I'd better take him down to the med ward."

"Fine," Master Vada nodded. "It doesn't look like he'll be able to fight any longer; he doesn't need to come back."

Anakin helped Drin to his feet, careful not to hurt the boy further, and led him out of the training room. As soon as they stepped into the hallway, Drin spoke through teeth gritted in pain.

"Did you see what he did to me?"

"It wasn't his fault," Anakin said slowly. Drin's eyes flashed as he fiddled with the torn pieces of his tunic.

"He had no idea what he was doing. He shouldn't have been fighting the _Tast_ combats if he didn't—"

"Look," snapped Anakin. His tone dipped suddenly into sincere anger. "You got hurt because _you _didn't do the combat properly. The point of the combats is to work with your partner, and you obviously failed at that."

Startled, Drin said nothing, only looking up uncertainly at Anakin, who did not return the glance. They continued walking in silence until they reached the med ward. Once Drin was safely in the hands of a Mon Calamari healer, Anakin left abruptly. He was more concerned than he let on, and needed distance to keep his thoughts clear.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Since Anakin had first taken Drin under his wing, their relationship had changed greatly. While officially Drin still went to Anakin's rooms every morning to be tutored, it was no longer desperately necessary that he get his grades up. It was more by force of habit—on both sides—than any real need that they still met regularly, and they did less homework than talking.

There had developed between the two of them an easy camaraderie, but despite this Drin still instinctively looked up to Anakin. Though, with teenage stubbornness, he would hate to admit it, he very much wanted Anakin's approval. To have otherwise was crushing.

The problem was that during the months since Orest 6, though Anakin had no intention of doing so, he had always looked askance at Drin. Reason told him that Drin was the same person he had always known, and that was all there was to it—and then a tiny, treacherous voice always whispered, _what if?_, and then nothing was really answered at all.

And now there was no denying that something was wrong: Drin was gone from the Temple more often these days, and Force knew where he went. It took very little to rouse him to fury, and woe betide the person responsible.

Something crept into his manner when he was around Drin, the tiniest bit of guardedness, as he wanted to trust yet feared to do so—and the Padawan could not fail to miss this. The very next morning, before Anakin generally expected him, Drin came into his room without knocking.

Anakin swallowed. "I'm still eating," he mumbled. "You're going to have to wait."

Without preamble, Drin asked, "Are you mad at me?"

The question went deeper than the previous day, and they both knew it. There was a short, pregnant pause, and then Anakin sat up in his chair.

"I'm not angry with you," he said finally. "But…Drin, you're walking a dangerous line. I don't understand what you're doing."

Drin's gaze fell to the floor. "I'm sorry," he said quietly. "I just…get mad."

Oh, Force. How often had Anakin mumbled that same excuse to Obi-Wan? Dozens of times—perhaps a hundred. And he had always meant it from the bottom of his heart, yearning for his Master to understand.

With a sigh, Anakin stood. "Let me see your shoulder," he said, without answering. Drin hesitated a moment, then held out his arm.

"I know how you feel," said Anakin, rolling up Drin's sleeve, "but the path of anger only leads to the Dark Side. Give it an opening and it will destroy you. You must be careful."

He stopped a moment, hands frozen in midair. The words coming from his mouth were words that had been repeated for centuries by Jedi before him, spoken oh-so-often from Obi-Wan's lips. In youthful arrogance Anakin had always ignored them, trusting that he knew better than the wisdom of thousands of Masters. And here he was, reciting them, and only now did he realize that they really were true.

"I'm not on the Dark Side," Drin protested. As he spoke, Anakin pushed his sleeve up the rest of the way, and gingerly peeled off the bandage.

To see burned, peeling skin on any other person would hardly have been surprising—after all, a lightsaber, even on training mode, was still an powerful weapon. Natural healers like Drin, however, could repair minor wounds with just a few hours in a healing trance.

Anakin looked up at the Padawan with obvious, wordless surprise. Drin's face was that of one who has been caught in the act of doing something strictly forbidden. He pulled back and hastily rolled his sleeve down, mumbling, "I didn't have time…"

"Drin—" Anakin had no idea how he should feel about this, but the immediate reaction was extreme concern. "Don't lie to me."

Drin opened his mouth to speak, closed it, then opened it again.

"I can't heal anymore," he admitted miserably.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"Have you ever heard of a person losing a Force-ability?"

Ferus blinked. "Hello to you, too."

Completely ignoring this, Anakin sat down on his friend's sofa. "Seriously, have you ever—?"

"Where were you all morning? The Council was—"

"—heard of that happening? Don't interrupt, this is important."

Knowing that he would get nothing said until Anakin was satisfied, Ferus swallowed his annoyance and answered patiently, "No, I've never heard of that. Why?"

"Because it's happened to Drin," Anakin answered. "He was a natural healer, I know I told you that. But he's not anymore. I didn't know that was possible!"

Ferus's brow furrowed. "I don't think it is," he replied slowly. "Do you mean he can't heal at all?"

"Of course he _can_ heal," Anakin snapped irritably. "He's human, after all."

"All right, if you don't stop yelling at me, I'm leaving," threatened Ferus. "And for Force sake, it's _my_ apartment."

The absurdity of the conversation struck Anakin for the first time, fortunately with some humor. He made a noise that seemed caught between a moan and a laugh.

"I'm sorry," he said. "I just—I'm worried about him. Probably more than I should be, considering that I'm not even his Master. But I am worried, and apparently with good reason."

"Ok, granted, we've never heard of this happening before," Ferus admitted, sitting down beside his friend. "But that doesn't mean that it's the end of the universe. Maybe it's just a phase."

Anakin looked at his friend in disbelief. "A phase?" he repeated blankly. "This is the living Force we're talking about, not growing pains!"

"You don't know for certain that it's anything worth getting upset about," Ferus pointed out, the voice of reason. "And you trust Drin, don't you?"

There was a pause. "I want to," Anakin said at last, faintly. "I don't want to think that he would lie to me."

"I'm sure he wouldn't," said Ferus. "Give him time. If there's something he wants to tell you, he will."

"I hope so."

A rather awkward break in the conversation occurred, then Ferus cleared his throat. "If I'm allowed to speak now," he said, "the Council was looking for you earlier."

Anakin took his head out of his hands to ask, "What for?"

"Well, they _wanted_ to brief the both of us on our mission," said Ferus sanctimoniously, "but since no one could find you, they told me to relay said briefing to you."

"We have a mission?" Anakin repeated.

Ferus nodded. "To Chalacta."

The slightest grimace crossed Anakin's features. "An Alliance planet."

"Yes, and…?"

"Never mind. What kind of mission?"

"Undercover. We're supposed to investigate a disappearance."

Anakin's eyebrows went up. "I haven't done an undercover mission in years," he said. Ferus only shrugged.

"It'll be good practice," he replied. "To continue, a professor of engineering from a college on Chalacta vanished about a week ago. We haven't had the opportunity to respond until now because the Council only just heard about it. Chalacta's not very fond of Jedi, which is why we have to go without them knowing who we are. As students."

This last bit caught Anakin completely off-guard. "Students?" he repeated incredulously. "At the college?"

"That's what I said. Supposedly the professor was working on some—" Ferus stopped. "It's not funny."

"No, of course not," said Anakin, the corners of his mouth twitching furiously. "It's very serious. We'd better be certain to get all our homework done in-between looking for this guy."

Ferus stared at him. "It is beyond me," he said finally, "how you managed to convince the Council that you were mature enough to become a Knight."


	31. Good Grades

There had been Jedi, in times past, who were so well known across the galaxy that it was impossible for them to carry out an undercover mission. Fortunately—or unfortunately, depending on the mission—neither Anakin nor Ferus had reached this level of fame yet. After they'd boarded the transport, Ferus related the rest of the mission's details, though there weren't many.

Piran Macket, apparently one of the foremost engineering experts in the universe, taught at the Chalacta College of Advanced Learning. Or at least, he had until recently. According to what little information the Jedi had, the professor had simply not come to work one morning. When the faculty had tried to contact him, they had discovered no one at his home. The man had vanished.

"What's your guess?" asked Anakin after Ferus had finished. His friend shrugged.

"Macket had several different theories that he was working on," he said. "I don't know much about engineering, but they were supposedly very revolutionary. Any one of them might have been the reason he was kidnapped."

"So we're ruling out the possibility that he left of his own free will?"

"I think that would be a safe bet. He hasn't missed a day of work in years."

Anakin's face fell into a pensive expression. "So who kidnaps a scientific engineer?"

"Someone with a rival theory, someone who didn't want Macket's theories published for whatever reason—" Ferus broke off with a shrug. "Could be anything. That's not important right now."

"We don't have a contact, do we?" Anakin asked. "No one there knows we're Jedi?"

Ferus shook his head. "No one," he said, "which means we've got to be careful. Anti-Jedi feeling is pretty strong there, from what I've heard. I'm not sure why, though…"

"I think we may have stolen a holocron from them a long time ago. And by 'we', of course," Anakin added, with a trace of self-righteousness, "I mean not us, but Jedi of the past, with looser morals."

"Jedi of the past did _not_ have looser morals."

They landed about six hours later, after having changed into civilian clothes. Their lightsabers they had been allowed to keep, but only under a stringent promise to keep the weapons hidden. The college was several blocks from the docking bay, so they took a taxi to the campus.

"The Council has already gotten our names entered as transfer students," Ferus said, his voice low, as their speeder weaved at a lazy pace between the many tall buildings, "so all we need to do is tell them we're here."

"To be honest, this feels a bit degrading," said Anakin, looking around him at the campus. "It took me twenty years to become a Knight, and the Council sends me right back to school."

"Here you go," called the taxi driver from the front seat, setting down in front of a large, pristine, white brick building. "This is the Administrative Center." The Jedi thanked him and paid, then pulled their things out of the taxi and went inside.

It was the typical office building; hushed murmurs echoed off plain white walls and thin carpet muffled their footsteps, making the idea of noise seem abhorrent. At a desk in front of them sat a pretty blonde, her eyes glazed over with boredom. At their entrance, she straightened and blinked.

"Can I help you?" she asked. When they gave their names, she nodded. "The transfers, right? I have some things for you." After rummaging around in her desk for a few moments, she handed them each a small datachip. "There's a map and your schedule on that. You'll be sharing Room 304 in Building A."

"Thank you," said Anakin, taking his. "Can I ask you a question? I'd heard that Professor Macket would be giving private tutoring this year. Do you know if that's true or not?"

The woman stiffened. "I'm afraid it's not."

"Oh." Anakin's gaze fell to the ground, as if disappointed. "But he will be teaching regularly, at least?"

"The professor is—will be taking a vacation this semester. Of indefinite length," she added. She was not a very good liar, even with obviously prearranged material.

"Well, thank you for your trouble anyway," said Anakin, giving her a smile as they left. Ferus's eyes rolled into his head.

"Flirting already?" he asked as they stepped back out into the bright sunlight.

"If you've never done it, then you've probably gathered a lot less information on your missions," replied Anakin coolly. "And anyway, we know that they're doing their best to keep it quiet. She obviously wasn't allowed to say anything. Now…where's Building A?"

After no small amount of trial and error, they managed to find their way to their room, which consisted of two sleep couches, a closet, and a door that led to the refresher. Completely ignoring the closet, Anakin threw his pack on the ground, pulled a datapad from it, and inserted the chip the blonde had given him.

"So here's a question," he said, looking at his schedule. "Do we actually have to go to class?"

"Yes, I should think so," said Ferus. "There's not much to it."

"Do we have to get good grades?"

"_What_?" Ferus looked up, startled. "What kind of a question is that?"

"I'm serious!" Anakin insisted. "If we have to get good grades, then we have to study, which takes time that we could be using to look around and figure out what happened to Macket."

Ferus appeared at a complete loss for words. "We just—do the best we can, I guess," he said finally, shrugging.

Anakin pressed a few more buttons and stood, grasping the datapad in hand. "Well, I'm off," he said carelessly. "I've got Galactic History in ten minutes."

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Ferus's schedule contained an engineering class, which, Ferus complained, was extremely unfair, since Anakin was the one who understood that sort of thing. It did give him a chance, though, to talk to some of those students who had taken engineering before, under Macket. What they found seemed promising, though it took several days to find out anything at all.

"Apparently he's been doing a lot of work on the side," Ferus said, tossing a page full of notes onto his bed. "Mostly going through plans with architectural companies, but there are a couple names in there that I don't recognize. And there's a rumor that he's done some work for Adurian some time in the past, though I can't be sure if it's true."

Anakin's breath left him in a slow whistle. Every Jedi knew the name of Adurian, a Falleen crime lord who operated from the Outer Rim and surrounded himself with such a complex web of disposable henchmen and hit men that it was impossible to ever legally connect him to a crime.

"You think he's the one who kidnapped Macket?"

"Could be."

"Do you know how long ago this was?"

"Four, five months ago. That's what people say."

"What was he doing for him?"

Ferus shrugged wearily. "I have no idea. Probably something illegal."

Leaning back against the wall, Anakin sighed. "In other words, we've got almost nothing to go on."

"Pretty much, yeah."

That was discouraging. In having been here almost four weeks, still all they had to go on were guesses and shreds of information, and both Jedi were growing frustrated. Anakin sighed again, then glanced up at the chronometer.

"It's almost time for lunch," he said. "You want to come?"

Ferus shook his head, and Anakin left on his own. It felt strange to move in civilian clothes, so much lighter than Jedi tunics and robes. He rather enjoyed it.

The halls were nearly empty now, but slowly students began filtering out of classrooms, driven by hunger and boredom to the hall where lunch would shortly be served. Then suddenly, something in the Force caught at the back of his mind, like noticing something out of the corner of his eye, and he stopped.

The door that the Force pointed him toward seemed in no way outstanding from its neighbors, except that it lacked a plasteel label. It was impossible for Anakin to get to it—the halls were already so crowded that he could do nothing but follow the general stream. But that door remained stuck in his mind.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

When Anakin told Ferus about the door, his friend was able to confirm its significance. It was, he had been told, Macket's office.

"And they'll never let us in," Ferus had added. "Not under normal circumstances, and certainly not now."

So their only option was a break-in, which was easier said than done. Anakin—an eager volunteer—could not be seen going in, and times that the hall might be completely empty were few and far between. The only time to do it, they decided, would be when the hall was so crowded that a hand on the door, the disappearance of one student, would not be noticed.

Three days later, his chance came.

It took only a split second of concentration before the door slid quietly open, and without bothering to look around, knowing it would only call attention to him, Anakin stepped inside. The door closed, abruptly muffling the chatter of a hundred tweens outside, and Anakin was free to assess his surroundings.

The walls were plain and white, like all the others in this place, but they were covered with paintings done in loud and gaudy colors, as though trying to compensate. There was a desk in the far corner, facing a large computer screen, which had all the appearances of having been very disorganized very recently and then hastily cleaned.

Anakin sat down at the desk and took a look in a few of the drawers, but found nothing that seemed to be of any importance, which was all he had expected. If there was any real information to be had, surely it would be digital.

"Computer on," he said, and then prayed a second too late that the computer would not recognize his voice as unauthorized. Fortunately, Professor Macket did not seem to be the sort that cared much for security. The screen flashed on, giving Anakin immediate access to whatever files it contained.

There didn't appear to be anything worth finding, though. Macket had put down several notes, but they all appeared to be nothing but abstract numbers, ideas and thoughts. Slightly discouraged, Anakin ordered the computer to open its last file.

It turned out to be Macket's personal calendar. Anakin went to the beginning of the year and began flipping through it, but found nothing interesting. The previous months were filled with personal notations like "class at 7" and "dinner with D—bring brac". It was only when he reached the current month that Anakin noticed something amiss.

Too late he heard the door begin to slide open once more. Anakin only had time to murmur hastily "Computer off" before he whirled around to see a figure standing in the doorway.

Oh kriff.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"So, what happened?" demanded Ferus as soon as Anakin returned to their room.

"I got caught."

Ferus's expression fell. "Seriously?"

"I forgot to lock the door behind me after I got in."

"Who was it?"

Anakin sank down on the bed. "Your engineering professor, actually," he said. "I don't know what she was doing in there, but she found me, all right."

"And…?"

Anakin's gaze flickered; the faintest blush swept across his cheeks. "I got detention, basically," he muttered. "She told me to go help sort files in the Administrative Center after classes are over for two weeks, starting today."

Ferus's eyes opened wide in disbelief, and then he began to laugh. "I can't believe you—you—"

"All right," Anakin grumbled, a sheepish smile coming onto his face. "It's not _that_ funny." He sat up straighter. "And I forgot—I did actually find something, just before she caught me."

It took a moment for Ferus to stop laughing, but then Anakin had his full attention. "Anything important?"

Anakin nodded. "I found his calendar."

Ferus's expression embodied anticipation, waiting for the catch. "I suppose we can't hope for an entry like, 'Meet mysterious dark stranger at midnight on Helona the third'."

"No," said Anakin, grinning. "Something better. I looked through the whole year and—get this—his calendar was completely blank from the day he disappeared, for about six months or so. Then entries started appearing again."

A slow blink was his only reaction, at first. Then Ferus's mouth fell open. "Then Macket meant to leave," Ferus breathed. "He left on his own."

"And he knew he'd be back," Anakin finished. "And no, I don't think it's actually a vacation."

Ferus reached for his commlink. "We need to tell the Council about this," he said. Anakin stood.

"You do that," he agreed. "If you want me, I'll be in the Administrative Office."

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

**_Author's Note:_ I finished this chapter yesterday, actually, but I waited to post it until today because according to my computer, I started writing this story exactly one year ago, on September 10, 2005. I just thought that was kind of cool. One whole year...and it's still not done. But many thanks to the people who've been reading this story from the beginning and faithfully reviewing it. (cough-hint-cough)**


	32. User Unfriendly

Nothing seemed to have changed in the room since the last time Anakin had been in this room, but the blonde was gone. Anakin waited a moment, uncertain of where he was supposed to go, but then the woman appeared from around the corner. She looked surprised to see him only for a second.

"Are you the one who's supposed to help with the filing?" she asked. Anakin nodded.

"I guess news travels fast around here," he said wryly. She allowed him a small smile before getting down to business.

"We use a digital filing system for school business," she said, "but for student paperwork we still have a paper system. There are still plenty of papers that we haven't gone through yet over there—" She pointed down the hall from which she had just come, her wrist dangling a delicate gold bracelet. "—so you can just organize them into separate piles by category for starters. If you don't get all of it done today, that's fine."

_No kidding _was Anakin's first thought as he entered the room to which she had directed him. There were piles of flimsies everywhere, neatly stacked but in no particular order. He paged through a few of them—a student record, a graded test, a request for an off-planet trip…

After a few moments of aimless shuffling, Anakin devised a rough form of organization. Official records went in one pile; anything with student handwriting on it went in another. With such general standards, the job should have been easy, but Anakin had somehow only finished half of the papers before the sky outside grew dark.

"I can leave now, right?" he asked the blonde at her desk. She grinned.

"Just as long as you're back here tomorrow," she said. "Hope you didn't have any plans for the next two weeks."

Anakin laughed—but muttered under his breath as he walked away, "No, nothing big, not like a kidnapping investigation or anything…"

* * *

The work was not hard, but tedious, and mind-numbingly dull. After only a few days, Anakin was beginning to seriously regret getting caught. The little information they had gained by his break-in, while perplexing, did not actually lend itself in any way to their purpose. What was worse, this punishment deprived him of several hours in which he could have been looking for more significant clues, leaving Ferus by himself to continue their Jedi business.

As time went by, working in such close quarters as they were, it became almost impossible for Anakin and the blonde to ignore each other. They were forced instead to become friends, or at least friendly. Her name, as Anakin found out, was Dura-Na. Through her face was young, she was actually Anakin's elder by five years years, and she was not married.

This last bit of information was volunteered with a tiny sigh and a glance, almost unnoticeable, at the bracelet on her wrist that she always wore. A gift from a boyfriend, Anakin guessed, as a substitute for the ring that Dura-Na obviously wanted.

For Anakin's part, he had to come up with a background story on the spot while talking to her one day. It wasn't as comprehensive as he would have liked, since it had come off the top of his head, and he was pretty sure that by the time it was over he'd somehow managed to claim citizenship of three different planets. Still, it seemed to satisfy.

It was during one of these conversations that Anakin first noticed something amiss. As they were talking, Dura-Na's right hand would begin to caress the delicate links of that bracelet on her left. The action seemed automatic, as though she did not even realize what she was doing, but each time that it happened, her manner grew more reserved, and Anakin could sense an unobtrusive sadness emanating quietly from her as she did so.

It wasn't the sort of thing one could normally bring up in conversation, but Anakin was intrigued by it, and that, by his way of thinking, allowed for an exception. He came in one afternoon and Dura-Na's hand was on her bracelet, and her face was tight in a way that meant she was trying very hard not to cry. Leaning over her desk, Anakin asked impulsively, "What's wrong?"

Dura-Na looked startled. "I—nothing's wrong."

She was lying miserably, once again. Biting down on his lower lip, Anakin fixed his eyes upon hers. "You can tell me," he assured her, layering his words with a Force-suggestion of trust. Her feelings were transparent as she warred visibly between instinctive silence and a need to speak of what lay heavily upon her heart.

"It's nothing," she choked out breathlessly. "I'm just—I'm so worried. I haven't heard anything from him in so long. He said he was leaving, but I _know_ something's gone wrong, I can feel it!"

Anakin's mind had gone blank for a moment. Then his eyes went to the bracelet once more, and something clicked in his brain that ought to have been realized much sooner.

"Are you talking about Piran Macket?" he asked, disbelieving. He felt like a fool. _'Dinner with D—bring brac'._ So the bracelet _was _a gift from a boyfriend, after all.

Dura-Na nodded distractedly, dodging Anakin's gaze. "He told me—oh, Piran always found a way to talk about it—that there were big people interested in him, and they were going to make him rich, and important, and on and on and on…"

She trailed off. Her hands wrung themselves nervously on her desk, and Anakin decided to take another chance.

"But you think something's wrong," he pressed. "What makes you think that?"

"Nothing," she murmured. "Just a feeling…a silly feeling."

"Dura-Na—I could, maybe, help you find him."

She eyed him warily. Anakin felt his Force-suggestions being shrugged off her consciousness. "What are you, a cop?"

He gulped in a breath before plunging in. "No. I'm a Jedi."

Instantly her whole body stiffened in suspicion. "What the kriff are you doing here?" she muttered. She had bared her fears to him, and he had proved to be a complete stranger. "Jedi are hardly welcome on this planet."

"Dura-Na, wait…" He grabbed her hand without thinking, and she pulled back sharply. "No, listen to me. I can help find him, I _can_! But I need your help."

Once again, easily read emotions flickered across her face successively: first a startled fear, then doubt, and then—then hope.

"How can I trust you?" she asked, but Anakin knew her mind had already been made up.

"The Jedi want to find the professor just as badly as you do," he told her, "albeit for slightly different reasons. All I want to do is make sure that he's safe."

Her lips parted slowly. "Then you think something's gone wrong too?" Dura-Na asked. Anakin nodded.

"The Jedi Council suspects a kidnapping."

She blanched, but to her credit, nodded. "Then I'll tell you what I know," she said, "if you promise me you'll come back and tell me what's happened to him."

"I promise I will." He could offer no more than that.

Dura-Na looked down at her hands before speaking. Deepest feelings of mistrust were not easy to overcome in an instant. "He's gone off-planet. I don't know where, he wouldn't tell me, but I know he's no longer here."

"Then how can I find him?"

"I know he took a public transport. You can ask the services that operate nearby. There aren't many." She gave a little shrug. "That's all I can tell you. I'm sorry."

"It's enough," Anakin said sincerely. "Thank you."

"Just—" For the first time in the conversation, she looked up into his eyes. "Just find where he is. Please."

* * *

It didn't take the Jedi long to find the charter ship that Macket had used; despite all his secrecy, he had not covered his tracks very well. A holo-still and a few words of description were all it took to find the rough-looking ship and its matching pilot.

"Yeah, I've seen him," nodded the man, puffing deathstick smoke from the corner of his mouth. "Took him to Korus a while back."

"Where's that?" asked Ferus. The pilot raised a quizzical eyebrow.

"One of Orest 6's moons," he replied. "S'not too far—only half a standard day's travel. I could take you two there for…" He eyed them, sizing them up. "Fifty credits apiece."

Anakin glanced at his friend. Ordinarily a decision like this was one that merited some thought, but they both knew that there was nothing more that could be found on Chalacta that would help them.

"We don't have a hundred credits," Anakin admitted, "but you'd be glad to take us for free…"

The pilot's mouth twisted into a perplexed grimace, as though the idea of not making a profit was repugnant, but he nodded. "I'd be glad to take you for free," he parroted.

The Jedi had already grabbed what few things they needed from their room; without a backward glance, they stepped onboard. The interior of the ship was shabby and small, but for only half a day's ride, it didn't make much of a difference.

When they grew close to Korus's atmosphere, the pilot came back to ask them where they wanted to be set down.

"Just take us where you took him," said Anakin. "Do you remember where that is?"

"'Course I do," said the man. "Don't know why you'd be wanting to go there, though. Or him, for that matter."

Anakin frowned. "What makes you say that?"

The man gave a gruff laugh. "Korus isn't the most user-friendly planet," he said sardonically. "It's your run of the mill collection of scumbags and cheap bounty hunters. And the place you're heading isn't the nicest part of it, either."

He left them to land the ship, and Anakin gave Ferus an uneasy look. "What do you think he's doing there?"

Ferus shrugged. "Your guess is as good as mine," he said. "If what he said is true, though, I'll be keeping my lightsaber in hand."

Korus was approximately twelve hours ahead of Chalacta: as the planet they had left faded into darkness, on Orest 6's moon dawn was about to break. As they landed, the first gray streaks of sunlight could just barely be seen over the horizon.

The ship sailed off into the distance, and Anakin pulled out his commlink. While Ferus counted up what little funds they had, Anakin found his Master's signal.

"Anakin?" Windu's voice came through faintly, but clear. "Where are you?"

"How did you know we were gone?" asked Anakin, surprised, without answering. Beside him, Ferus rolled his eyes silently.

"The comm signal we gave to the school was contacted a few hours ago. They said the two of you had disappeared."

"Oh. Well, we're on Korus. We found reason to believe that this is where Macket is, or at least that he was here recently."

"We might have enough for a hotel room for one night," said Ferus suddenly. Anakin finished his comm conversation with "We'll let you know if we find anything", and then looked at his friend quizzically.

"In other words, we need to find him fast," Ferus elaborated. "Or else find an empty warehouse to sleep in."

"He wouldn't have gone far," Anakin pointed out. "Otherwise there would be no point in him wanting to be set down here."

Ferus's breath escaped him with a frustrated noise. "All right, well, let's split up."

"And do what?"

"I don't know," Ferus said irritably. "Whatever you think will work to find him. Just ask around, I suppose. Surely someone's bound to have seen him."

Admittedly it was not a very good plan, but it was the only one they had. As vestiges of light began to creep across the sky, the Jedi parted ways and spread off into the city.

At first, while it was still dark, it looked like any other place in the universe. As the light grew, however, Anakin started to understand. Every individual that passed him—and there were more now, the streets were beginning to fill—had at least a blaster at his or her hip, if not more weaponry than that. Men staggered out of alleys with their heads in their hands and their trousers loose, and though it was daylight now, a few Twi'lek women still sensuously walked the street. Their glances passed over Anakin without interest, for he hardly looked rich.

More than once he tried to ask passersby whether they knew a friend of his, a Professor Macket, but never received an affirmative answer. People seemed inclined to brush him off, caught up in their own business as they were. He hadn't expected an answer, but it was discouraging all the same. It was only after Anakin entered one of the many bars along the side of the road, his hood pulled carefully over his face, that he realized he had been neglecting a most obvious source of information.

In the first two bars he visited, no one had ever seen Macket, although the men there obviously enjoyed having their opinions asked. The third bar was closed (due to excessive fire damage, said the sign), and at the fourth one Anakin could find no one sober enough to even focus their eyes upon him for more than a few seconds. At the fifth one, though, he did not even have to ask before hitting pay dirt.

"So I'm working on this site just last night, right?" said a heavy-set man sitting at the bar, his voice loud and coarse as he regaled his two friends with tales of his many exploits (made exciting only through the wonders of alcohol). "My boss's been riding me all day about getting more work done, _even though _I tell him again and again, those buildings don't go up by themselves, and we can't put 'em up in a day, shavvit!"

His friends agreed vehemently. Inspired by this attention, the man continued his story. "So I'm working, and this guy comes up to me outta nowhere—had this funny little beard. But I couldn't see anything else, 'cause he this cloak pulled over his head—like that guy."

The man pointed a finger at Anakin to illustrate his point. Anakin, sitting at a table only a few feet away, ducked his head and pretended he hadn't heard a word of their conversation. It was rather a useless pretense; anyone with ears within a forty-yard radius could have heard them speaking easily.

"And he asks me if I know where that old droid factory is—you know, the one that stopped working when Grievous came. So I said to him, 'What do I look like, a map?' But I told him where it was. Heh—funny little guy."

Having finished his recital, the man took a long drink from his glass, and his friends laughed. Anakin left without a word, heart pounding, scarcely able to believe his luck. This was the greatest lead he'd had since the beginning of this mission.

He needed only to ask for directions once; the factory was the largest building in the city, towering over the rest of the structures, and eerily reminiscent of its fellow on Geonosis, the only difference being that this one was made of metal and not of earth. It was even built in the same haphazard fashion, looking like some giant being had taken five or six other buildings of varying sizes and shapes and stuck them all together to create this.

The only door Anakin could see was locked, and there were too many people around to risk being seen with a lightsaber. Glancing around, Anakin waited until no one was looking in his direction, then, reaching for the Force, catapulted himself upward onto one of the building's flat lower roofs. No one appeared to have seen him—he went up one more roof, just to be safe, then ignited his lightsaber and plunged it into the thick metal.

It took him the better part of ten minutes before he was able to carve a hole large enough to fit through. Anakin looked downward to check that there was something below him, then jumped through without a second thought.

He landed on all fours on a still conveyor belt. No sooner was he inside than he felt a prickling at the back of his neck, a distinct uneasiness not his own. There was something very wrong about this place.

The factory was dark and completely deserted; Anakin activated his lightsaber again, just so he could see by its glow. The air was thick and stale, having not been breathed for almost two years now. A few solitary battle droid heads stared up at him from the floor with lightless eyes, some extra limbs were scattered under the dusty conveyor belts, but he saw no living person.

A moment later his thoughts were thrown back in his face. As Anakin walked carefully through the enormous building, he caught sight of something dark hidden behind a support, leaning against the wall. Moving toward it, the faint lightsaber glow found first a pair of legs, then a twisted torso, and then—oh Force—a still, swollen face.

Anakin froze, horror thudding through him. He knelt, tentative, and touched two fingers to Macket's cold flesh (for it was Macket, there was no denying that). It was not difficult to see how he had died; the long, sharp bruises around his neck told Anakin that he had been strangled by a thin cord, and the person holding it had known their business well.

Anakin straightened and coughed. The atmosphere in here, before merely stifling, now seemed oppressive and malicious of its own accord. He reached for his commlink to tell Ferus of this startling discovery, but his fingers felt thick and clumsy, fumbling at his belt. Had the air always been so thick in here, so difficult to see through? It looked more like smoke than air, more white than black…

Danger and adrenaline shot suddenly through every vein in his body when he realized, giving him a moment's clarity. Moving faster than he ever would have thought possible a few moments ago, Anakin managed to stumble toward the conveyor belt on which he had landed, toward that speck of light high up in the ceiling. If he could just reach that light, his muddled brain told him, then he would be safe…

One hand groped at the belt, trying useless to pull himself up onto it—but oh, he felt weak, as though someone had pricked him and let all the strength drain out of his muscles. Darkness from the back of his mind superseded the darkness around him, and with his last conscious breath Anakin saw two shadows moving above him. His arm fell limply to his side.

_Trapped…he had been…trapped…_


	33. New Enemies and Old

The first thing he was aware of was a coldness, piercing and frigid, seeming to wrap around his very bones. The second was the fact that he couldn't see a thing, and the third was a voice.

"…leave him there. He's becoming troublesome, or so they said."

That voice was low and young, a man's voice. The one that answered him, though, was no human. The words sounded hissed rather than spoken.

"I do not like leaving a subject to die. They too often fail to do so. Let us end it now."

"Hardly," replied the other voice dryly. "I've got a reputation to uphold. I earn my bounties, and I obey orders."

Anakin's eye cracked open, but he shut it again hastily; nothing good ever happened to a captive after he awoke. Knowing that they might be monitoring his vital signs, Anakin forced his quickening heart rate to slow, his breathing to relax. Could they tell, he wondered, that his limbs were beginning to warm?

There was a pause in the conversation.

"Are you sure he won't wake up?" asked the young man. The hiss answered him confidently.

"Even a Jedi cannot withstand such a dose as I gave him. He will not regain consciousness for hours yet."

The noise of a chair being pushed back, then footsteps that grew successively louder. "I know this one," murmured the young man in a warning tone. His voice came from almost directly above Anakin. "He was on Geonosis. He's very strong."

"That is why we should not wait."

"You're a fool, A'shir. If a Jedi were found to be murdered—"

Anakin was careless. At the word "murder" his heart rate jumped, and they must have known it, for the man exclaimed in an angry, panicked voice, "I told you! Put him back! How could he have…?"

Anakin heard nothing more before a sharp, brutal pain stabbed into his forearm. Robbed of his charade, he had no reason to keep from crying out in pain as the needle dug into his skin, and the coldness burst from it to overwhelm him once again. Anakin looked up to see what appeared, to his dazed mind, to be a giant insect standing over him. Then his eyes rolled back into his head, and he lost the consciousness he had fought so hard to regain.

* * *

It wasn't the most difficult job A'shir Kor had ever taken. All it entailed was sitting around for a few days, watching the Jedi starve to death, and it was almost done anyway—but A'shir didn't like it. As he had warned his temporary partner, he disliked slow deaths for his bounties. 

This ruthless approach was hardly surprising, considering the bounty hunter's origins; a Tendresti from a moon of Jabiim, he had been reminded from childhood that to survive meant to kill, as was all of his species. The atmosphere on Tendres was made up almost entirely of methane, so it was this climate that the Tendrestis had adapted to. On their homeworld, they breathed the deadly gas as though it were air; everywhere else, A'shir wore a mask that allowed him to survive, providing him with the atmosphere to which he was used.

The other distinguishing mark of the Tendresti species was their unique brain structure. Most sentient species had one distinct section to their brain, but Tendrestis had three, allowing them to concentrate on three different subjects at once. This was why A'shir's partner had hired him in the first place—it was almost impossible for a Jedi to sense danger from a Tendresti when the alien's malicious thoughts were clouded by two other thoughts simultaneously.

Right now, he was half wishing that he had turned down the offer of this job and wondering how long it would take for the Jedi that was tied to the bed to die. The third section was contemplating a short knife from the Tendresti's belt, thinking that it needed to be sharpened. The door to the small room opened as he did so, and A'shir's partner stepped inside.

"Took you long enough," commented A'shir, tipping his chair back against the wall. His partner pulled the helmet from his head, revealing dark brown curls and a disparaging expression.

"It's not so easy to get to our employer," he retorted. "It took me half a day just to get past his flunkies."

"And?"

The young man shook his head and sat down at the table opposite A'shir. "He insists on sticking to the plan. Any man can die in the wilderness, if he is lost, but the slightest sign of murder will bring every Jedi down upon our necks. That, at least, is our employer's argument."

"Then he is a fool," A'shir sneered. "A Jedi is more dangerous than he knows."

"A normal human can only last a few days without water," answered the young man. "A Jedi, six or seven days at the most, and we are already halfway through that. If we keep him unconscious, he is harmless." His tone grew mocking. "Unless you are afraid of a dead man, I see no reason why we should not follow the original plan."

A'shir leaned forward. "Those are bold words from an unproven child," he said in a cold voice. The knife he held rubbed pointedly against the scaly skin of his other hand, a menacing gesture.

"If you're wise, you will take that back," warned the young man through gritted teeth. "I'm neither a child nor unproven."

"Oh no?" The Tendresti smiled, revealing two rows of pointed teeth through his mask. "You wear Mandalorian armor, yet you've undergone none of their rites to be worthy of such a thing. Only a child would do so, stealing another's toys and pretending to own them."

"If you do not watch your tongue—" The young man broke off abruptly, half-rising from his seat at a noise from the monitor a few yards away. The Jedi's vitals jumped as he stirred, a dry moan escaping his cracked lips. "Shavvit!"

A'shir jumped up and, grabbing a prepared syringe from the table, stabbed it into the Jedi's arm. The whites of the Jedi's eyes showed for a moment, and then his eyelids fluttered closed, and he was still once again.

"Shavvit!" the young man swore once again, slowly sitting back down. "He's had more than three times the normal amount already, and still he's waking! What_ is _he?"

"He is determined to live, whatever else he may be," said A'shir. The tension of a moment before had gone. Tempers were on edge; lately, arguments were easily started and just as easily forgotten. He took his seat again as well, resuming the idle motion of the knife against his scaled fingers. Reptilian eyes flicked upward to fix upon the boy's face. "You know, you still have not told me our employer's name."

A faint smile crossed the young man's face. "I haven't," he admitted. "And I don't intend to."

* * *

Ferus was worried. 

At first, he'd tried to remain calm. After all, Anakin was not the most reliable person, and it was very possible that he had discovered a lead and followed it up without telling his friend. Then again, maybe not, and though Ferus could never have explained it, he had a feeling.

It wasn't through the Force. All he could think of to explain it were Anakin's eyes, sick with fear, looking into his own all those years ago and whispering, "Something is wrong. That is what I know." That was what this feeling was.

He asked around the city, although fully aware that Anakin would have ensured no one would remember him. He searched the Force, but Anakin's connection was faint and trembling, almost impossible to follow. After four days of searching, Ferus was beginning to lose hope.

The fifth morning was the day he decided to contact the Temple and request a search party. It was a decision he'd hesitated to make, due to the fact that their original mission would be impossible to complete once a noticeable team of Jedi arrived here, but Ferus had ceased to care.

When Anakin had failed to contact him that first night, Ferus, tossing scruples to the winds, had mind-tricked an innkeeper into giving him a room for free. Now, before leaving the hostel, he checked with the innkeeper to see if maybe, just maybe, someone fitting Anakin's description had left any sort of message. They hadn't, of course—Ferus nodded his thanks, heart in throat, and went outside.

The streets were small and cramped, dozens of beings fighting their way to their destinations. Ferus avoided the masses, leaning against a wall and lightly scanning the crowd. A Trandoshan jostled his way through, hand on his blaster; an Aqualish, a Dug with blue beads hanging from his whiskers, and a Mandalorian in green armor. No Anakin. Biting his tongue, Ferus pulled out his commlink.

Something caught the corner of his eye: Ferus looked up to see that the Mandalorian had removed his helmet, revealing a face that looked vaguely familiar. The Jedi frowned, momentarily distracted. He had seen those dark eyes somewhere before, set against a background of red stone—it couldn't be—was it the bounty hunter's child?

Damp, sweaty curls plastered to his head, the young man seemed intent on his destination as he jostled his way through the crowd. Ferus waited until he was a good twenty feet ahead of him, then started moving, gingerly probing out the man's Force signature as he did so. It was more difficult than Ferus was used to—the bounty hunter had a determined mind, severely focused and not easy to penetrate. It was this, among other things, which intrigued Ferus so that he continued to follow the man.

The crowd began to thin as they reached the outskirts of the little city, but the bounty hunter did not slow his pace. With less people to hide behind, it was more difficult for Ferus to stay unseen; he was forced to fall back even further, relying on the Force to keep him going in the right direction.

They kept walking for another good half-hour, into a part of town almost deserted. There were almost no passersby—Ferus hid behind buildings and took back routes, praying that he wouldn't lose the man while he couldn't see him. Then without warning, he felt his quarry leave the open air. He ducked out from his hiding place only just in time to see a door close on the opposite side of the dusty road.

Ferus withdrew slightly from the bounty hunter's signature, and in doing so unintentionally caught another one. This one was weary, and pained, and—the Force thrummed—unmistakably Anakin. Adrenaline shot through Ferus, his senses suddenly painfully alert; he had to get inside that building.

Carefully he investigated the rest of the building as best he could with the Force. There were two levels to the place—Anakin was somewhere on the first floor. The bounty hunter that Ferus had followed he couldn't quite place, but Ferus guessed that he was on the second floor.

He weighed his odds: if he went inside now, it would be one bounty hunter against one Jedi. Normally that was a good scenario, but these bounty hunters had been able to render Anakin Skywalker himself helpless; Ferus would be the first to admit that that was a difficult task indeed. It wasn't a great situation—but Anakin had done stupider things for him.

Ferus took one deep breath, then walked calmly across the street and laid a hand upon the door. It was unlocked, opening at his touch and revealing a room that was completely empty but for a few scattered articles of furniture. He hesitated a moment, rocking on the balls of his feet, but no one seemed to have noticed his entrance. To be on the safe side, he ignited his lightsaber. There was another door beyond the first—Ferus's hand brushed against it, and he felt Anakin behind it.

Thoughtless with relief, he opened it immediately, and came face to face with a gas mask.

Both faces registered shock for a single instant, then both reacted simultaneously. The Tendresti grabbed for the knife on his belt, but Ferus's weapon was already in hand. Before the Tendresti could say a word, the lightsaber had gone through his side.

Ferus took a step backward, breathing hard. He had been careless—there was at least one bounty hunter left still in this house, maybe more, which meant he had to be quick. It was then that he looked up and first saw Anakin.

From a distance of fifteen feet, his friend didn't look so bad despite the fact that he was tied to a bed, thick cords tied tightly across his chest, arms, legs, ankles, and throat. But Ferus got closer, his hands shaking, and saw the death-white skin, the hollow cheeks and the sunken eyes. This hardly looked like Anakin at all.

Ferus was suddenly terribly frightened. He fumbled for a few moments at the cords that held Anakin in place, then gave up on that and slashed them through with his lightsaber, along with parts of the mattress. Anakin's eyes were shut, and he seemed hardly to breathe—Ferus grabbed his friend by the shoulders to shake him awake. He could feel the fierce burning of Anakin's skin even through the cloth of his tunic, and it scared him even more.

"Anakin—Anakin, please—wake up, wake up—" he muttered, but nothing happened, and he was afraid to shake his friend too hard. Anakin felt frail and thin under his hands, as though Ferus could break him by accident if he were too forceful. And then—it seemed like a miracle—Anakin's eyes fluttered open.

It was only for an instant, but Ferus grabbed at it desperately, taking it as a sign of definite life. He wanted to shout at Anakin to wake, but didn't dare. With no other recourse, he lifted his friend gingerly onto his shoulders. _Don't come down, don't come down, don't come down,_ he prayed to the bounty hunter upstairs.

And just like that, as though Ferus had summoned him, footsteps could be heard on the steps above them.

Ferus ran, panicked as a Jedi should never be, wincing every time his foot came down hard on the ground and he felt Anakin's head flop loosely on his shoulder. Looking back, he saw a flash of green just before the door closed behind him, and he knew the bounty hunter was coming.

He had a bit of a head start, perhaps twenty feet or so, but the bounty hunter was not weighed down by anything. What was more, as Ferus discovered suddenly, he could fly: without warning, he heard the sound of a jetpack starting up, and the bounty hunter landed easily in front of him, blocking the Jedi's way. Knowing futility when he saw it, Ferus stopped running.

"I'm surprised you managed to get as far as you did," the young man said in a conversational manner. His helmet was back on, lending his voice a tinny quality. "My associate should have stopped you."

"He didn't get the chance," replied Ferus, wary. "If you haven't seen already, he's dead."

The bounty hunter seemed not at all perturbed by this news. "He was useful, but far too inexperienced for a job like this. He tended to underestimate the two of you on occasion. For instance, he might try to tell you that, if you give your friend to me right now, your own life would be spared. I won't insult your intelligence by lying to you—I'm afraid I can't let either of you live."

"I would never give him to you!" Ferus spat. The bounty hunter tilted his head to the side, as though amused.

"If you intend to fight, fight for yourself; your friend is no longer worth it. He's been under heavy sedation without food or water for five days. He cannot survive."

_Five days_. The words chilled Ferus's heart, but the emotion did not appear on his face. "I will fight for both of us, and I will win."

They attacked both at once. Just as Ferus threw out his hand, the young man raised his own; and as the Force flung the bounty hunter onto his back, something flew from the green glove, and Ferus felt a sharp pain pierce his calf. He looked down and saw a short feathered dart embedded in his skin. With one swift motion he pulled it out and began to run again, taking what advantage he had while the bounty hunter was still disabled.

It seemed to be the most difficult thing Ferus Olin had ever done in his life. At the very best, he was still running from a man intent on killing him, weighed down by the lifeless body of his best friend. But the road seemed never to stop, and there was no crowd to lose himself in. Worst of all, though he tried to ignore it at first, was the slow, dead feeling—or lack thereof—that crept up his leg. Gathering his thoughts, Ferus concentrated the Force on the unpleasant sensation, and it receded, but only temporarily.

He kept running, though it seemed that hours passed, with no sound but his footsteps beating furiously against the dirt road and the blood as it pounded in Ferus's temples. Strange, that he sensed no more hot pursuit—the bounty hunter seemed to be counting on the tranquilizing dart, whose effects were growing more difficult to quell by the moment, to win his quarry for him.

Ferus blinked; was it his imagination, or were there more people now on the streets than there had been further up the road? His mind seemed to be growing numb as well, but he struggled to think: if there were more people, then he had to be getting closer to the center of the city…and at the center of the city, there was the hotel…and the med droid…

His own breathing sounded deafeningly loud in his ears; every breath that he took ached. _Just a few more steps,_ the Jedi promised himself wearily. _Just a few…more…_

The door opened, and Ferus rushed inside to sag against the wall. Were they safe? Oh, let them be safe. He couldn't think any longer, couldn't manage to escape again.

The face of the innkeeper, whom Ferus had last seen only a few hours ago, was shocked and bewildered. Ferus swallowed, thinking very carefully how to speak.

"Get-a-med-droid," he said, running the words together. And then he blacked out.


	34. To Keep A Promise

When Ferus awoke, he was lying on a thin, hard bed in an unfamiliar room, and his head hurt. He sat up, swinging his legs over the edge of the low cot with a groan. As he did so, he heard a noise beside him, and looked up to see a med droid.

"All toxins have been removed from your body," said the droid without preamble. "But you may experience a few mild, unpleasant side effects until the full dosage wears off."

Several questions entered Ferus's mind simultaneously, but he chose the most important one to ask. "Is my friend all right?"

"The malnutritioned human is being cared for as well, but—"

"Where is he?" Ferus demanded. Fastidious as med droids necessarily were, they generally did not appreciate being interrupted. This one paused a moment, miffed, before leading the way into the next room. Ferus hopped off his cot and followed, headache forgotten.

Anakin was lying on a bed similar to the one Ferus had woken up on. There were multiple IV's in his arms, the needles taped into his skin, but his face was no longer a deathly white. Ferus breathed an immense sigh of relief.

"The malnutritioned human is being cared for," said the med droid, as though it had never been cut short, "but he may not survive. He was severely dehydrated; his body will find it difficult to recover."

Ferus shook his head. "He's stronger than you know," he said. He looked around—the darkness bothered him. "Can I open that window?"

"As you like," said the med droid indifferently. "Now if you'll excuse me, I have several other patients to which I must attend."

It departed, leaving Ferus alone with Anakin and numerous beeping noises. First things first—he crossed to the other side of the room and slid the shade away from the small window, allowing for some natural light. Then he grabbed a chair from the corner and pulled it to sit beside Anakin's bed, knowing that he was in for a long wait.

* * *

For at least a day and a half, Anakin stayed unconscious, and he hardly stirred in his bed during that time. Though Ferus refused to entertain the med droid's suggestion that, perhaps, Anakin might not survive, he could not help but worry.

Sometime during the late afternoon of the second day, Anakin's eyes opened, but before Ferus could say a word, Anakin himself was speaking, his voice hoarse from lack of use. His gaze was blank, and an odd little smile rested upon his lips.

"I hate sand," he murmured. "You know that, right?"

Ferus blinked, startled. "What?"

"I hate sand," Anakin repeated. "And the heat. There's nothing good on Tatooine." And then without warning he was unconscious again.

The med droid that came by once or twice a day told Ferus that delirium was common in instances of serious dehydration, not necessarily a sign of escalating danger. It disturbed Ferus all the same; to hear Anakin talking so strangely, entirely detached from reality, was frightening.

It kept happening, too. The most bizarre things would come out of Anakin's mouth in a manner entirely random. Once he turned to Ferus and whispered, "I'm sorry that you died." Once he spent a full hour insisting to the air that he wasn't special, he really wasn't. And once—Ferus froze when he heard it—he called out for Obi-Wan, and seemed bewildered when there was no answer.

It was on the morning of the fourth day that Ferus awoke from his cot to find Anakin blinking at him. He braced himself for another stream of nonsense, but instead he heard Anakin ask, "How long have I been here?"

"Almost a week," Ferus replied. "How do you feel?"

"Tired," he answered honestly. "But a lot better than I've felt for the past two weeks. Did you get me out of there?"

"Yes."

Anakin sank back into his pillow, nodding. "I thought you would," he said. It seemed to cost him a good deal of effort to speak.

"Do you want anything?" asked Ferus anxiously.

"Yeah…about as much food as you can carry, and some water."

Ferus grinned and went to find the med droid.

As Anakin ate, he seemed to regain strength. Ferus sat beside him, glad that they could finally talk.

"So, do you know how this happened?" he asked. Anakin swallowed.

"They must have been working for the same person that murdered Macket. After I found him in—"

"Whoa, back up—Macket's dead?"

Anakin grimaced. "Yeah. Strangled, probably by one of those two bounty hunters. Speaking of which, are they dead?"

"One of them is," said Ferus. "The Tendresti. But I had a hard enough time getting out of there alive without killing the other one, who, by the way, I think is that kid from Geonosis."

Anakin's eyebrows shot up. "Really? Fett's son?"

Ferus nodded.

"Well, I'm sure his father would be very proud of him, kidnapping Jedi and all. Anyway, I found Macket in the abandoned droid factory, and then I woke up…somewhere. I heard them talking; the Tendresti wanted to slit my throat, but Fett wouldn't let him. He said that whoever hired them wanted to starve me to death and then leave me in the wilderness, so it looked like I'd gotten lost out there and died."

"And they didn't say who their employer was?"

"If they had, they wouldn't be very good bounty hunters," reminded Anakin, reaching for a glass of water and gulping it down in one breath. "Off the top of my head, I'd guess Macket was working for him and something went wrong. I can't think of any other reason that a crime lord would want to kidnap an engineer."

"Then you think it was Adurian?" asked Ferus.

"To be honest," Anakin sighed, "I have no idea. All I know for certain is that it was someone with power and money, and Force knows how many people there are like that in the universe."

Ferus was quiet a moment, thinking hard. "Assuming that we're not dropping this mission," he said at last, "and I can't see why we would, this is a lot more serious now. We're investigating a murder, not just some random disappearance. Whoever had him killed must have known that this would be hugely publicized, since Macket's so well-known, so they must have covered themselves up well enough so that we won't be able to find them easily."

Anakin's mouth twisted into a frown. "The last thing we need is publicity," he said.

"Yeah, but we'll get it anyway." Ferus pulled the commlink from his belt; he could see the lucidity in Anakin's eyes beginning to fade. "I'll call the Temple."

"Mm…ok." That was all it took before Anakin dropped off into deep, healing sleep.

* * *

Once the feverish delirium had ceased, Anakin's strength returned and his recovery was swift. The very next day he wanted to get out of bed, although his muscles were shaky and weak after nearly three weeks of being entirely bedridden. His first attempt to stand would have landed him on the floor if not for Ferus's startled arms, but with characteristic stubbornness, Anakin refused to rest until he could walk again. When at last this was accomplished, the two Jedi left the med center and boarded the transport to Coruscant that Ferus had summoned.

The relief that Anakin felt at being home was almost palpable. He needed this place to keep him going, needed its sun-bright corridors and white stone walls like he needed breath or water; being away from it too long put him on edge.

Both Jedi were fully established Knights now, with no real need for their Masters, but the instincts remained: as soon as they arrived, Ferus was off to Siri's rooms and Anakin went to find Windu. He didn't have to go as far as the Council Chamber—Windu met him in the hallway.

"I'm glad to see you're all right," Windu said after greetings had been exchanged. They were alone in the hallway, their footsteps echoing softly; the dying sunlight colored everything a dull gold. "You had the Council very worried."

"The Force was with me," Anakin replied. "How long was I gone?"

"Almost five months," said Windu. "And the Trials took place while you were away."

"Anyone I know?"

"Aviva Kenmur."

Anakin stared. "Aviva? She can't be a Knight; she's far too young."

"True," Windu conceded, "she's young, but she's not overly young. She showed great aptitude at the Trials, and the Council agrees that she's very talented."

Anakin shrugged. "Well, I trust your judgment, Master," he said. "Anything else I should be aware of?"

He had been Windu's apprentice long enough to know that his Master was about to speak of something serious. A quiet sigh came from Windu's lips.

"There have been rumors in your absence," he admitted. "More than one account has reached the Temple that Count Dooku has taken an apprentice."

The significance of this hit Anakin like a rock as he stopped in mid-step. "Then there are two of them again." Didn't they ever die? 'There are always two' had begun to seem more like a law of nature than a credo.

"There is no way to be quite certain," Windu said, "but I see no reason to disbelieve the rumors. To take an apprentice is an enormous obligation for a Sith, since there are so few of them; to be honest, I'm surprised he hasn't done it already."

They continued down the hallway. "The Council would prefer," continued Windu, "that such information was kept secret, but I'm afraid it's already too late for that."

Anakin was frowning. "I don't like this," he muttered. "Least of all that there is nothing we can do about it."

"Sometime action is not the best course," Windu reminded his former apprentice. "The Sith are overeager in their hatred—that is their failing. In time, they will overstep their own boundaries and reveal themselves to us."

"And in the meantime we swing at shadows and hope we hit something," Anakin grumbled.

"In the meantime," Windu corrected him, "I expect to see you and Master Olin in the Council Chamber in twenty minutes time to recount the details of your mission."

He left, and Anakin let out a groan, but only when his Master was out of earshot. With a grim expression set upon his face, Anakin went off to find Ferus and drag him to the Council Chamber.

* * *

"Murdered?" echoed Ki Adi Mundi.

"Without a doubt, Master," Anakin replied.

A murmur raced through the chamber like worried lightning. Yoda turned to the Jedi standing in the middle of the room.

"A dangerous situation, this may become," he said gravely. "Dangerous it may already be. Investigate this murder, you must, and find who is behind it."

Ferus bowed. "With all due respect, Master," he said, "the person who orchestrated this crime kept himself very well-concealed. He hid his trail well."

"The Council understands the difficulty of such a mission," Windu assured them. "It may take a long time to accomplish, but we all feel that this is of sufficient importance that you continue the mission for a while. Find out what you can."

"Very well, Master," said Anakin, bowing. Together, he and Ferus exited the chamber.

"So what now? Back to Korus?"

"We've been home for an hour," Anakin replied. "I'm not…" His voice trailed off as his expression grew distracted.

"What is it?" asked Ferus concernedly. Anakin shook his head.

"It's nothing. Listen, I've got something to do. I'll meet you on Korus, all right?"

"Um—"

But Anakin was already gone, heading toward the hangar. Bewildered, Ferus let him go; there was no keeping Anakin from doing things like this.

* * *

The office was quiet and dim, in no way different from the last time Anakin had set foot in it. When he opened the door, she didn't look up for a moment.

"I'm sorry—just one moment," she murmured, shuffling through a pile of papers on her desk. When she finally saw him standing there, the breath left her throat, and she was speechless.

"I came to keep my promise," Anakin said softly. He hesitated, struggling for words, but all he found was, "I'm sorry."

Dura-Na's eyes closed for an instant, her face white, and then she opened them again. "Thank you," she said. "I'm glad you came."

"Are you all right?"

Dura-Na nodded, and when she spoke again, her voice was very low. "I think I already knew," she said. She cleared her throat. "If you'll excuse me, I have to get back to work."

Anakin left. There was nothing more he could do.


	35. A Sanctuary Defiled

Ideally, they needed to find Fett and make him talk; once they found out the name of his employer, the rest would be easy. The odds of this actually happening, however, were hardly in their favor. Jango Fett had once murdered an associate who was about to betray their mutual client; his son, in all probability, would not hesitate to do the same, or even go one step further.

Korus had seemed the likeliest place to begin the investigation, but already the trail was cold. Fett had rented no rooms, bought nothing, spoken to no one, had never even stood out from the crowd in any memorable way. Once this had been conclusively determined, Anakin and Ferus (who at least had a ship of their own this time) decided to approach the problem from another direction. Sitting around the table in the central chamber of the _Aularious_, they began a tedious process of elimination.

"So what do we know about his employer?" asked Anakin, tapping one finger idly on the tabletop.

"He—"

"Or she."

Ferus gave him a look. "Or _she_," he continued, "has plenty of money and a fair bit of influence. He—for the sake of convenience—is also desperate to keep his name out of this." As he spoke, he was writing on a piece of flimsy all the helpful points that came up in the conversation.

"Adurian comes immediately to mind," Anakin admitted, "but something about that doesn't feel quite right. To have Macket do illegal work for him once was dangerous enough; twice is just foolhardy. Not to mention that Dura-Na specifically said he was convinced that these people would make him important. 'Important' means famous, and you don't get famous from splicing wires for a crime lord. Infamous, maybe, but that's different."

Ferus nodded. "I agree," he said. "And besides, he was certain that he would come back in six months, so he must have felt secure. So we can rule out the bad guys, and the poor good guys."

Anakin shook his head. "That's where it gets weird," he corrected his friend.

"You keep using that word."

"A rich good guy wouldn't have hired bounty hunters to kill Macket after he was finished with whatever he was hired to do. And us, too, come to think of it. Most people wouldn't dare touch a Jedi."

"Maybe someone with an undeserved good reputation?"

"We've ruled out everything else," Anakin said with a shrug. "He obviously planned to kill Macket when he was finished with him."

Ferus finished scribbling and reread what he had. "All right," he said after a moment. "We've basically concluded that Macket was hired to do something highly technical that had to be kept secret, for whatever reason." He stopped and put the word "illegal" with a question mark beside it on the page. "His employer was someone in a position of power, and he'd already planned this out so that when Macket was finished with his work, he would be taken somewhere deserted and killed quietly. That part went out without a hitch, as far as we know."

"That was actually pretty clever of him," Anakin remarked suddenly. "That droid factory's very hard to get into, and no one's going to go in there again for decades, probably. It's been completely deserted ever since Grievous's alliance."

"Then we're also assuming that it was someone who trusts Grievous," Ferus pointed out, "since they believed that he would keep his word that no more battle droids would be built."

"Yeah, put that down."

More scribbles. "That's about it," Ferus said after he'd finished. "We should show this to the Council."

"It's not much to show," Anakin said ruefully.

"No, but they might have some ideas. Besides, we've been here long enough to know that there's nothing on Korus we haven't seen that might help us."

* * *

The Jedi returned to Coruscant with the intention of sharing what little information they had with the Council. They decided to wait, however, until the Council summoned them to summarize their mission. They were indeed summoned only a few days after they had arrived back, but it was not for the reason they expected. 

"Master Olin, Master Skywalker," Windu greeted them as they bowed. "I'm glad to see you. The Council has requested your presence for a discussion for which you might be helpful."

Anakin shot a glance at Ferus, who appeared just as surprised as he was by this turn of events. But he nodded. "We are of course glad to help in any way we can, Master," he said. Windu nodded.

"Good. Please be seated."

There were two extra chairs in the Council Chamber today—Anakin and Ferus each took one. Neither, being completely honest, could have said that they were completely calm at being asked to sit with the Council.

"We have asked you both here," said Windu, speaking for the Council, "because of your most recent mission. Piran Macket's murder took place on one of Orest 6's moons, did it not?"

There was a split second in which Ferus and Anakin's eyes met, wondering who was supposed to answer, then Ferus took the initiative. "That is correct, Master," he said.

"The location should not go unnoticed," Windu said. "It may be coincidence, but the obvious is often correct. Have you been led to believe that Grievous may, in any way, be involved in this case?"

"So you've called us here," Anakin said suddenly, "to discuss the possibility that Macket's death was a part of something bigger, rather than an isolated incident."

"Exactly."

"Our evidence suggests that. Unfortunately," Ferus admitted, "we have found no definitive clues pointing toward any specific person." Briefly he sketched out what he and Anakin had concluded earlier. "It may be Grievous, or it may be Adurian or someone else entirely."

Master Mundi was frowning. "I do not like this," he murmured. "It seems that we have eliminated the possibility that Macket was killed randomly—but our alternatives are not pleasant."

"An evil we cannot see is always dangerous," agreed Master Gallia. "Like the Sith, it is invisible, perhaps under our very gazes, until it strikes."

"We have one piece of the puzzle," said Ferus, with his typical complacent practicality. "A murder without a motive, seeming to further no one's cause. If we find even one more piece, the rest of the puzzle may become clear. But if we take for granted that we have already found that missing piece, and we force them to fit and continue with our puzzle, we will tangle ourselves up even further. Assumptions at this point seem very dangerous to me."

"Agreed," said Windu. "Whether Grievous or Adurian, presuming a culprit is not our next step."

"What of you, Master Skywalker?" said Yoda abruptly; he had not spoken since the Council meeting had begun. Anakin, who had also kept unusually quiet, looked startled at being singled out. Yoda continued. "What have you to say on this subject?"

Anakin was quiet, looking down at the ground for a moment. "I'm afraid I find myself unqualified for this discussion," he said at last. "Especially if we are decided against assumptions. I would not wish to bias the Council's decision in any way."

Windu appeared interested. "What is it you have to say, Anakin?" he asked.

A little smile appeared on Anakin's face. "I have no information that Master Olin has not already given you."

"For information it was not that I asked," Yoda persisted sternly. "For your opinion, was my request."

Anakin nodded. "Very well, Master," he said. "But the Council has already spoken against assumptions, which is my opinion. Personally, Master, while I have no reason to believe that Grievous is the main culprit behind this murder, I do believe that he took part in it at some point—and my prejudice is my only evidence. That is what I have to say."

Yoda looked pleased, nodding, but still expectant, as did the rest of the Council. Anakin continued to speak, wondering if he was not just wasting words.

"I do wonder, though," he said, "if we are wise to rule out Grievous's angle altogether. When we say his name, we associate it with the man himself, but he is an entire government now." He grinned. "I have yet to see a government without one corrupted sentient serving within it. It is possible that this was orchestrated from somewhere above Grievous, and he merely carried out orders. It is also possible—and also more probable than the first—that Macket's murder was ordered by one person within that government, without Grievous's knowledge."

"Why do you say more probable?" asked Windu.

"Because the only people who could give Grievous orders are the Sith," Anakin answered, "and I can't imagine what use they would have for an engineer."

There was a little smile on Yoda's face, as though he knew something secret, but the Master remained quiet as Windu began speaking again.

"That is a possibility that we have not yet considered," he said, "and it might bear…"

Then his voice trailed off when they felt it.

It was an almost palpable thrum, starting at the heart like a pounding drum and stretching through the limbs until it seemed to echo from every fingertip and toe. The Council Chamber disappeared, for a split second, lost in the midst of angry red and black. It was shaking with rage and grief, it surged with power and adrenaline; and it was very, very close.

Anakin thought ice had been shot through his veins, that it flowed through him like blood until he could neither think nor move. Gradually he became aware that his vision had cleared and of the noises around him, voices speaking in tones that were tense and urgent.

"Anakin—" He heard a voice saying his name, and looked up to see Windu kneeling beside him. His Master's face was deadly serious. "Anakin, did you sense this coming? Did you know this would happen? Tell me—"

"No," Anakin wanted to say, "You know I haven't had a vision for nearly four years. You know I would tell you." But it was all he could do just to shake his head.

Windu had already risen and was murmuring to Master Gallia, who nodded tersely and left the room. A few of the Masters were attempting to contact someone on the holo-projector, and the rest were already gone, and Ferus with them. Not one unnecessary move was made, even when the room still echoed with remnants of the Dark Side.

The Force was a tangled mess of frantically beating hearts, of trembling hands and icy fear. Anakin shut his eyes tightly, as though he could force the sensation from his mind, but it persisted. If he could get out of the room, perhaps—

With no real recollection of having left the Council Chamber, Anakin found himself running with all his strength through the halls, with no destination in mind. This was no escape; the Dark Side hovered everywhere, prickling at the back of his neck, as though it were laughing at him. Anakin thought he would be sick as he imagined it desecrating this sacred place, a black cloud that destroyed all it touched. Finally, completely out of breath, he stopped and leaned against the wall, gulping in air. He put a hand to his forehead, and it came away drenched with sweat.

"Master Skywalker!"

There were footsteps interrupting the silence from behind him, and a voice. Anakin turned to see Aviva standing there. Her face was startlingly pale, and she was visibly trembling. She looked as distraught as he felt.

"What was that?" she demanded. "I could feel it—I was in my room, and I felt it—"

"I don't know," Anakin answered. "The Council is investigating it…" Oh, Force, he could feel it still, pounding furiously in his chest like a second heart.

"Do they have any idea—they don't know who could have done it?"

Anakin shook his head wordlessly. With no more questions, Aviva retreated. When she was gone and he was alone, Anakin sank to the ground, burying his face in his fists.

He had no idea how long he stayed there, his back to the cold wall, trying to purge that awful feeling of dirtiness from beneath his skin. But all the while he knew in the back of his mind that he couldn't hide there forever. At length, Anakin pushed himself to his feet and walked with decided steps back to the Council Chamber.

Windu was back, talking with someone on the holo-projector—it looked like Amidala—but he looked up when Anakin entered and left the conversation to another Master. Walking over to his former Padawan, he appeared to be about to speak but Anakin beat him to it.

"Please tell me you know what the Dark Side is doing here."

Windu had to shake his head. "I don't know," he admitted. "No one does."

"You don't know what caused it, who it was…?" Anakin could hear the desperation in his own voice. He needed some sort of rationalization for this, some reason that the Dark Side had entered his sanctuary. Windu sighed.

"I know as much as you do, Anakin. Someone within the Temple or very close to it called upon the Dark Side of the Force."

There was no need to impress the seriousness of the situation upon Anakin; he understood it all too well.

"We've spoken to a few others," Windu continued. "Not many others sensed it—Ferus says he didn't feel it nearly as strongly as I suspect you did." His eyes rested heavily upon Anakin's face. "But it was there all the same."

_Like the Sith, an evil we cannot see, invisible…until it strikes._

"You don't have any idea who it might have been?" asked Windu. "Anyone within or outside the Temple."

For the second time that day, Anakin shook his head. "I don't have any idea," he said again. But this time, he felt a cold hand twisting in his stomach, and realized that he may have just unintentionally lied.


	36. The Worst Kind of Mission

The room was quiet; fire-lit torches flicked in their brackets against the walls that were made of claustrophobic stone. This place was specifically designed to unnerve all who entered it. Anakin, breathless, rested a moment against the wall, his hand on his lightsaber.

That was when she struck, seeming to leap out of nowhere to slash at his arm. Anakin dodged quickly, and managed to trip her in mid-jump so that she tumbled awkwardly to the ground. Her lightsaber and its red blade fell from her hand and rolled to a stop across the room.

"Cursed Jedi!" the Sithess spat, crouching on the floor. Without warning she sprang, clutching at his throat in an act of desperation. Anakin had no time to reach for his lightsaber as her fingers tightened around his windpipe—he kicked, hard, and her grip loosened. Once more, and her head flew back as she sank into unconsciousness.

Almost immediately, the dark walls faded into generic white, and the Sithess disappeared. Anakin pulled the sim helmet off his head and left the room, satisfied but tired and still a little out of breath. Though he would be loath to admit it, he still had not quite gained back all the weight he'd lost while in the bounty hunters' clutches, and this still affected him adversely.

"Anakin—" Windu, who had been standing by the wall talking to a Knight, swiftly ended the conversation and walked over to his former apprentice.

"Master?"

"The Council has asked me to inform you of a new mission."

"What kind?"

"A simple escort. One of Grievous's ambassadors has requested a bodyguard while on Galantos. He'll be traveling through some places that are very unwelcoming toward the Alliance."

"If it's so simple, why are you giving it to me?" asked Anakin. Windu smiled.

"Because I know you want something to do. If you're planning on taking it, by the way, you should leave very soon."

Anakin considered. On the one hand, he tried to avoid the Alliance altogether; on the other, Windu had been perfectly right when he'd said Anakin was bored. "All right, I'll take it, then," he said. He waited only for Windu to give him a few more specifics as to the meeting place, then headed for the east hangar to grab a ship.

It took Anakin less than two hours to reach Galantos, close as it was to the city planet, and less time than that to find the hotel in which the ambassador was staying. As Windu had promised, the man was waiting for him in the lobby. Anakin spotted him easily.

"Ambassador," he said, coming up to stand before him, "My name is Anakin Skywalker. The Jedi Council sent me to protect you."

The man looked about forty, with little crow's feet at the corners of his eyes and a tall figure. He smiled kindly when he saw Anakin.

"Ambassador Horan Simay. I am glad to meet you," he said, shaking the Jedi's hand. "Glad to have you with me, as well. I've met enough animosity already—a rogue ship tried to fire upon my own as I entered Galantan atmosphere."

Anakin nodded. "The Alliance is distrusted in several places," he admitted, trying to sound nonpartisan. "Hopefully things will calm down after a while."

Simay gave him a wry smile. "General Grievous's Alliance has been officially established for nearly three standard years now," he said. "I doubt more time will change anything. Now, I assume you will want to leave soon, and I have no desire to keep the Galantos officials waiting, so my bags are already packed and in the landspeeder outside. Whenever you are ready, Master Jedi."

The man spoke with such swift-moving pragmatism that Anakin, expecting yet another dull-minded politician, had trouble keeping up for a moment. The landspeeder was waiting outside as promised, droid driver included, and they left with no further ado.

* * *

It didn't take long for Anakin to decide that he didn't like Ambassador Simay.

It wasn't that he disliked Simay himself. On the contrary, he found the ambassador to be intelligent, kind and judicious—but he also worked for Grievous, and Anakin could not reconcile these two facts in his mind. Grievous was a monster—therefore, he ought to have only monsters doing his bidding.

Perhaps it shouldn't have bothered Anakin at all, but it did. What was worse, he had plenty of time to ponder it during the long hours in that landspeeder, when there was nothing to do but talk with the ambassador and think. At the occasional stop that they made, civilians often noticed the Alliance insignia on the speeder's door and approached it with malignant intentions, but their bravado quickly failed them when they saw Anakin's lightsaber clipped to his belt. Only once did one of them go beyond that, and he was obviously drunk—Anakin dispatched him with a strong hold on his arm and a swift mind trick, and they were no longer bothered there.

After three days they safely reached their destination, the Galantan city of Ne-Hala, which had been specially designated as neutral ground for this purpose. The droid took them to the hotel where the ambassador would be staying, and as Simay was pulling his bags out of the back, Anakin, watching him, knew he had to do it or be driven insane.

"Ambassador," he said hesitantly, "May I ask you something?"

"Of course," Simay replied.

"Have you had very close dealings with General Grievous?"

The ambassador nodded. "He has given me my instructions before."

Anakin hesitated again before asking, "What is he like?"

Simay considered, placing a thick leather case on the ground. "He is intent on making sure that no mistake can be made. Sometimes that leads to his being considered stern, exacting, even harsh. But he also rewards those who do his work well. He took a great burden upon his shoulders, and overall I believe he bears it well." Then he looked askance at Anakin. "Have you not had dealings with him yourself?"

"I have," Anakin answered stiffly. "But that was before his treaty with the Republic, so I couldn't say what he is like now."

Due to the nature of his or her job, every good ambassador must be able to read other people's emotions and thoughts like a book. Anakin had grown more experienced of late at hiding his feelings, but it was not yet a perfected skill; Simay looked at him and smiled, knowing.

"Your dealings must have been most unpleasant, then. The General was not at his friendliest to Jedi when he was working for the Separatists. I cannot blame you for being wary of me."

"It's not you I distrust," said Anakin sharply, then froze. He hadn't meant to say that out loud. But the words were there all the same. Anakin bit his lip. "I have dealt with Grievous before," he murmured. "I have seen him do terrible things."

"You do not believe in forgiveness, Master Jedi?" asked Simay softly.

"It's not a question of forgiveness," Anakin said. "Forgiving a murderer doesn't mean they won't kill again."

"Then what about second chances? Do you believe in those?"

"Only if they are merited."

Simay was quiet for a moment. "Forgive me, Master Skywalker," he said finally, "I have heard of your accomplishments, and I know all that you have done. But with everything that you have achieved, has not one innocent person ever died by your hands, due to your own failure?"

Anakin said nothing.

The ambassador continued, his tone in no way condemning. "You and I are only sentient, as is General Grievous—we cannot be blamed for making mistakes, for that is what it means to be sentient. He joined the Separatists, and that was his mistake and his failure. It is true that he killed for them, but it was they who restored him to life after the crash that shattered his soul from his body. He owed them a life-debt. But now he has a second chance. He comes from a savage place, with a savage background, but obviously that was not his wish—why else would he work so hard to end the Separatist war?"

It wasn't an easy thought for Anakin, not when he had spent so many years looking into those red eyes that held nothing but hatred. But he looked down at the ground, feeling only the slightest twinge of shame.

"I hope you are right," he said quietly.

Simay smiled. "It has been a pleasure meeting you, Anakin Skywalker," he said. "I hope it will happen again."

* * *

The mission had been simplistic—the flight back home, equally dull. Nothing in Anakin's world had been at all out of the ordinary in these past few days, nor did he expect anything of the sort. But the instant Anakin stepped from his ship onto the Temple floor, he knew something was wrong.

He felt it, a tension that seemed to reverberate like electricity. Anakin frowned; he could sense, like the lingering aftereffects of a bad smell, traces of darkness in the air. _No, not here, not again—_

Anakin started walking, first slowly, and then picking up speed until he was running through the halls. He didn't stop, but as he ran he could see people looking at him sideways, as though thinking something they would not say. The thought crossed his mind to ask them what was going on, but surely the Council would know best.

Or so he thought. But even as he ran he felt an insistent hand pulling upon his arm, and when he turned he saw Ka'ela Brun standing before him.

He was taken aback to see her. Her face was drawn and pale, her eyes dulled. As they stood there, a strong wind from the nearby hangar entrance blew through the door, playing havoc with her already unkempt dark hair.

"What's happened?" Anakin asked her. It was a moment before she answered.

"It's Drin," Master Brun said, as though every word cost her. "He's gone."

"Gone? Gone where?"

"I don't know!" she cried, anguish in her voice. "It happened the day you left, I thought—I hoped he'd gone with you, but if not—"

"_What_ happened?"

She was forced to slow down then, to give him every agonizing detail. With each one he heard, Anakin felt his heart grow numb.

"The day you left—I didn't know if it was before or after, I suppose it was after—Drin and Aviva Kenmur were talking. He was growing angry with her, she said it was something silly, but they started shouting, and then Drin—" Ka'ela broke off, crying. "We found Aviva on the ground, unconscious, and he was gone. She said he grabbed her by—by the throat, and choked her."

The voice that came out of Anakin's mouth sounded strange and foreign to his ears, as though someone else were speaking for him while he himself stood here, paralyzed by these horrible emotions. "Have you looked for him?" asked the voice. "Do you have any idea where he is?"

"No," she sobbed. "I can't find him; I can't—not if he did it!"

Neither of them had to acknowledge out loud the reason for her aversion to this course of action, and neither of them would.

"Do you think he's run away?" he asked. Ka'ela nodded mutely, and Anakin swallowed. More than anything, he did not want to do what he offered next; but this was his responsibility just as much as it was hers. He had taken it on himself the day he'd allowed himself to become any kind of an influence upon Drin. "I'll talk to the Council and—with their permission—I'll go and look for him."

Ka'ela nodded again, her chest heaving. "Thank you," she whispered finally, and went away. The greater part of the burden was off her shoulders now, and it had landed upon Anakin.

His steps were slow and deliberate now as he made his way to Windu's rooms. His former Master was not expecting him.

"Anakin," said Windu with some surprise, "I didn't expect you back for another day."

"Is what I'm hearing about Padawan Audris true?" Anakin asked. Windu's expression grew serious.

"It is," he replied.

"I want to find him."

"That is Ka'ela Brun's responsibility."

"She can't do it. She doesn't have the strength."

"And what about you?"

"I trust Drin."

Windu was quiet for a moment. "And what if he is no longer trustworthy?" he asked. "What if he has betrayed the Jedi?"

Anakin's face was set, revealing nothing of the turmoil within. "Then I will do what I must," he said, "for the Order's sake."

Windu stood to face him. "I believe you," he murmured. "The Council does not need to convene; I give you my permission."

"Thank you, Master."

And Anakin left, to begin his search for the boy he did not want to find.


	37. A Necessary Strength

"Excuse me; have you seen someone go past here recently? He had dark hair, dark eyes, about eighteen years old. He's a Jedi."

"I haven't seen him. Sorry." And then always that came that look, vaguely suspicious and surprised, as if to say, "Can't you people take care of your own?"

"Thank you anyway." And Anakin would turn to resume his search, cursing the thoughts that always came to his mind when they gave him that look. Couldn't a Jedi find another Jedi? Surely the Force would guide him in that search, but then why did it not help him now? Was it for a Jedi that he searched at all?

Since when he had spoken with Windu, Anakin had had that same conversation at least a hundred times in the space of a single afternoon and into the evening. No one remembered seeing the young Jedi. Perhaps that was the truth, or perhaps Drin had veiled their minds, for if he was running away then he surely did not want to be found.

Anakin had tried to be logical about his search at first. There were no landspeeders missing, nor any ships: therefore, Drin was on foot. A Jedi standing on the steps of the eastern side of the Temple had seen someone fitting Drin's description running that way, so Anakin had gone east. But after that he had no more leads, and all logic had deserted him.

All day he had refused to let himself think upon what he was actually doing. He was a hunter, searching for his quarry, and once that had been found he could let himself think of what to do next. But Anakin was slowly growing desperate, and as he did so his grasp on the thoughts that held him sane began to loosen.

Force, what was he doing here? He had no desire for this, no wish to accomplish his task. Truthfully, he was afraid to find Drin, for what would Anakin do when he found him? Chastise him at the very least, punish him, kill—_no_. Anakin's head refused to allow it.

Suddenly he felt something brush deliberately against his cloak, a little thrill of warning in the Force. Instinctively Anakin's arm shot out and clutched at the small hand that had been groping for the pouch at his belt.

"Lemme go," snarled the boy he had caught, trying to squirm out of the Jedi's grasp. "I wasn't doing nothing."

"Liar," Anakin said, but with no real menace to his voice. "It's a waste of your time—I don't have any money anyways." He was about to release the child—Force, what was a child doing pick-pocketing on the streets? He hardly looked thirteen—when an idea struck him, and Anakin changed his mind. Kneeling until he was face-to-face with the little thief, Anakin kept a tight hold on the boy's arm and murmured under his breath, "Calm down."

The boy did so almost immediately, his wide eyes staring at Anakin through the dirt on his face. "Now listen," said Anakin, "I'm going to ask you a question, and as soon as you tell me the truth I'll let you go."

A nod.

"Anytime in the past few days, did you see my friend? He was tall, and he had dark brown hair. He was probably running, and he was dressed sort of like I am. Do you think you remember him?"

The boy blinked a few times, his lips pursed, and then—Anakin's heart leapt—he gave another nod. "Not here, though," the boy said. "He was near the part shop over that way." He pointed north, toward an area completely out of Anakin's supposed range. "Now let me go."

Anakin did so, and the child scampered off to separate another innocent victim from their hard-earned credits. This, however, was none of Anakin's immediate concern. At the moment, he had much more pressing problems.

After about half-an-hour's search, he found the part shop that the boy had described, to the north of the Jedi Temple. Here there were people who had actually seen Drin—but these people were few and far between, and the light was beginning to fade. Anakin was beginning to lose hope. Should he wait until tomorrow to continue? But then Drin would have been missing for an entire week…

His senses dulled by weariness, Anakin reached the entrance of a darkened alleyway and nearly walked right by it. There seemed nothing special about it at first, but then he hesitated and slowed as the Force beckoned him vaguely toward it. There was nothing, and then Anakin saw a little shadow curled up against the wall—a shadow that, upon closer inspection, proved to be a Jedi of about eighteen years old, with dark hair and dark eyes.

It was Drin.

He was sleeping on the ground, his back to the wall and his knees tucked under his chin. Anakin's mouth had gone dry. There was no one here but the two of them, and he had no idea how Drin would react to seeing him. For the first time in a very long time indeed, Anakin was at a total loss. He took a step forward; his foot bumped against a piece of debris on the ground, and Drin's eyes fluttered open.

In a second Drin had scrambled to his feet, backed away a step or two the instant that he saw Anakin. His shoulders rose and fell heavily with his breath—his hand gripped the lightsaber at his belt.

"What are you doing here?" he demanded. Anakin couldn't speak. The fact that Drin was reaching for his weapon seemed to say everything.

"Do you want to hurt me?" Anakin asked.

"I still don't know why you're here," Drin said.

"I haven't been sent on a seek-and-destroy mission by the Council," Anakin replied, "if that's what you're wondering." Was that a lie? "I won't hurt you unless I'm forced to, so stop acting like an idiot and talk to me."

For a second he wondered if anything he said was getting through. Then Drin nodded jerkily, swallowing, and let his hand fall to his side. "I thought—I'd save the Council the trouble of expelling me."

Anakin could feel himself treading on thin ice, unsure of each answer he would get to every question. "Then you're leaving the Jedi?" he asked cautiously, trying to sound out the boy. _Friend or foe?_

"I used the Dark Side," said Drin, almost defiant in his iniquity, but his eyes were unnaturally bright, "and that's the least of it. I didn't mean for anything to happen to her, but it happened so fast—" He took a breath. "They'd have expelled me anyway, after _that_. They couldn't do anything else."

"If you're willing to come back," Anakin said, "I could talk to Aviva. Maybe she wouldn't—"

Drin's forehead creased. "What are you talking about?"

"She's not badly hurt, I don't think. If I spoke to her—"

"Oh, Force…" A moan escaped Drin's lips; his face turned up to the darkened sky, his eyes shut. "Oh, Force, she's alive. I thought I'd killed her, I thought—" He fell to his knees, apparently overcome by relief. "I didn't know. I thought I had murdered her."

He was trembling and beginning to hyperventilate—it was obvious that Drin had lost control. Swiftly Anakin knelt on one knee, grabbing hold of Drin's arm and leaning him back against the wall. The eighteen-year-old was crying.

"Drin," Anakin ordered in a low voice, "Tell me everything."

Then all spilled out, secrets pent up for so long finally breaking out: how Drin had seen Palpatine's lightsaber in the library one day and found out its inscription's meaning from Jocasta Nu. How he had visited the library often after that, drawn without reason toward the Sith artifact. How the words had stuck in his brain, until he was wondering constantly if it were true that the greatest strength was in Darkness and Light combined, and perhaps the Council was wrong…

Anakin sighed when he heard this, rubbing his face with his hands. "What made you think," he asked, "that you knew better than the Council?"

"I don't know," answered Drin, in a very small voice. "I felt like—like the whole universe was blind, and I was the only one who could see."

"You and the Sith." Anakin's tone was harsher than he'd meant it to be. But he allowed Drin no relief. His disappointment was too great for that. "Go on."

"I know you've touched the Dark Side," said Drin in a muffled voice. "You know what it's like. You think you can see everything so much clearer. All the emotions you're not allowed to have as a Jedi just come out, and you lose all of your detachment. It—it makes sense."

"For a normal human being, yes," Anakin admitted. "But Jedi have a power that lends strength to everything we do. That's why our emotions are so dangerous; if we allow them to grow, then we cannot control them. Jedi must rise above our emotions. That is the price we pay for being the protectors of the galaxy." He looked down at Drin, huddled against the wall. "It was only selfish of you to think you could do anything else."

He saw the Padawan flinch at this; Drin had never been so severely spoken to by his esteemed tutor. Anakin himself did not know where this venom came from. He knew perfectly well that with every barbed word that spat from his mouth, Drin only grew more wretchedly miserable. But something in Anakin made him want to do this to Drin, to force it in his face and make him realize the magnitude of what he had done, no matter how painful the process—not just for the sake of the Order, but for Anakin's sake as well. He was hurt, deeply, and he wanted Drin to know it. Let him see the full effect of what his careless arrogance had done.

"And then what happened?"

"I practiced sometimes, at night. I think you sensed it, though, and when you told me I started leaving the Temple when I practiced, so that I couldn't be found. That was when I started realizing that something was wrong, that I couldn't tap into the Light Side anymore. I thought if I meditated more I could bring it back."

"The mission to Orin 6," Anakin said softly, realizing. "That was when—that was why you lost your healing ability."

A nod.

"And then what happened?"

"Not much," Drin answered, "until now."

"Tell me."

With obvious reluctance, Drin obeyed. "I was talking to her, and—I don't know, it just got out of control. When we started arguing, I could feel myself getting so angry with her. I think she knew what was happening a second before it did. She sensed it; she stopped talking and she just stared at me. She looked—"

"Frightened?" Anakin suggested.

"—surprised. And then I just reached out—I could feel it rushing through my hand toward her. She didn't even struggle. She just went limp. And I thought she was dead."

"What were you arguing about?"

"One of her birth parents was killed a few weeks back in some sort of accident. I—" Drin's voice choked up in a bitter little laugh. "_I_ tried to tell her that she was too upset about it; she wasn't being a good Jedi."

Anakin remembered something else. "What about that disturbance about a month ago?" he asked. "What was that for?"

"What do you mean?"

"You know what I'm talking about," Anakin insisted. "There was a great disturbance in the Force, on the fourteenth. The Council all felt it."

Drin's face turned toward his, and through the darkness Anakin could see genuine confusion written upon it. "I didn't feel anything," he said. "I didn't do anything, either."

"Don't lie to me."

"Anakin, I'm not lying!" Drin cried. "I told you everything—why would I lie to you about this? I swear, I didn't do anything that day!"

His voice was abject, pleading for belief, his tears still audible in the sound. Anakin had no desire to feel pity for Drin, not yet, but he did all the same. In Drin's voice he could hear every emotion he himself had felt so many times before, and especially once on Tatooine, when he had looked into Obi-Wan's betrayed and astonished gaze and been forced to explain why a whole Tusken village had been wiped out in a night. He had cried then, knowing with the certainty of one who has disappointed a dear friend's trust that he would never be forgiven. Yet somehow Obi-Wan had forgiven him anyway.

"I believe you," Anakin told Drin quietly. "I do."

Drin was still shaking; wordlessly Anakin slipped an arm around his shoulders, and Drin leaned into the embrace, allowing himself to be comforted. Though Anakin was only six years older than his pupil, it was to him that Drin looked for strength, and he found it now. They sat silent in the darkness for a while; then Anakin asked, "So, what do you want to do now?"

"I don't know," answered Drin.

"Do you want to go back to the Temple?"

A pause, then, "Yes. But I'm scared."

"Why?"

"I don't think they'll take me back—and I don't know where else I can go."

Anakin hesitated. "You used the Dark Side," he said finally, "and you purposefully harmed a fellow Jedi. I can't promise that the Council will be forgiving, but I will ask them with you, and I'll help you all that I can. But we should go soon; they'll be wondering where I am."

"They know you're looking for me?" asked Drin. Anakin nodded. "Why didn't my Master try to find me?"

The question required a delicate answer. "The Council has known for a while that Count Dooku has taken an apprentice," he explained. "They've sensed, as I have, traces of darkness hovering near the Temple. When you ran away after using the Dark Side, after long and unexplained absences from the Temple…" Anakin swallowed. "If the Council's suspicions were correct, and you were found to be the Sith apprentice the Jedi have been looking for—" It was harsh, but there were no other words for it. "—you could not have been allowed to live."

A shuddering breath escaped Drin's lips, but he said nothing.

"Master Brun did not have the courage to search for you. She was afraid of what she might find."

Drin was quiet. When push came to shove, Ka'ela Brun, whom he had respected if not loved, had not trusted him; perhaps it was that, most of all, that hurt him and made him realize what he had done.

"What about you?" he asked Anakin. "Would you have killed me?"

"A Jedi can find strength to perform even the most difficult tasks in the Force," Anakin replied vaguely. He looked down at Drin. "But I prayed every hour that I would not need that strength."

Drin nodded slowly. "I'm sorry," he said hoarsely. "I'm so sorry—for all of this."

"I know." For the first time since Anakin had returned to Coruscant, he smiled. Then he stood, and offered his hand to Drin. "Now let's go home."


	38. To Fill the Hole

Before they went anywhere, Anakin retreated a few paces and commed Windu. His Master answered almost immediately.

"Anakin, do you have any news?"

Drin was out of earshot. "I found him, Master," Anakin replied. There was a pause on the other line.

"Is he all right?" Windu asked finally. Anakin, understanding the question as being double-sided, felt confident in his answer.

"Yes. I'm bringing him back to the Temple with me."

"Anakin…" The word held a sigh.

"Just talk to him—please. Maybe it's not as bad as you think."

Another sigh, this one out loud. "It's late, but I'm sure I can still call a decent Council meeting," Windu acquiesced. "We'll be waiting for you."

"Thank you, Master," Anakin said fervently. He could see Drin looking over at him anxiously, and cut off the connection. Without telling him what had been said, Anakin began the walk home, and Drin followed at his side.

When they reached the Temple and the Council Chamber, his pupil was visibly nervous. "Breathe," Anakin advised him, and then without another word stepped into the room. Drin had no choice but to follow hurriedly.

All too well Anakin remembered how, as a Padawan, the collective gaze of the Council had seemed to bore right through him, making him feel guilty and very, very small—so much more when he was actually in trouble. His sense of pity for Drin grew.

"So, Anakin," said Windu, presiding over the room like a judge, "Tell me why the Council is here."

"I know you plan to expel Drin," Anakin said. "With all due respect, Master, I ask the Council to reconsider this decision."

"It is not possible," said Adi Gallia, eyebrows arched sternly. "Padawan Audris has committed a serious offense against the Jedi by using the Dark Side to harm a fellow student."

"He is not as corrupt as you would believe," Anakin protested. "He is still young—he made a mistake."

"How can we trust him," asked Master Yoda, "if trust in the Council he does not?"

"It was a mistake," Anakin repeated firmly. "One that I believe he will not repeat. I would stake my life on that."

Windu looked faintly surprised at this. "You trust very strongly in this young Padawan, Anakin," he commented. "Is that not a dangerous assumption?"

"I do not assume," Anakin corrected him. "I have seen the facts and I act upon them, as I was taught. Nor am I blinded by my closeness to him: I was prepared to take this boy's very life as the Jedi required of me, had it been necessary. But I have watched him grow for the past four years, and I know that he has a good heart. Even when he strayed toward the Dark Side, he did it because he thought his actions would aid the Light."

"A good heart cannot erase his crimes," Windu said. "Nor can it erase all suspicion. How can the Council be certain that Padawan Audris is not an apprentice of the Sith, being taught by Count Dooku himself?"

They did not bother to mince their words. Anakin could sense Drin, already resigned to his fate, withering underneath the Council's righteous fury.

"The Jedi are the guardians of the universe," Master Gallia was saying. "It is a high and absolute calling. There can be no taint within the Temple."

"Forgive me, Master," said Anakin, "but I would consider lack of forgiveness to be a taint." He was growing angry. "If you were determined to expel every student within the Temple who ever made a mistake, you would have not one person left! How can it be justice if—"

He swallowed the words, knowing full well that he was dangerously close to overstepping his boundaries. There was no hope of winning this battle; instead, he retreated to his one ally. Anakin's eyes locked with Windu's.

"He deserves a second chance as much as I ever did," Anakin implored him. "You gave it to me."

Windu's gaze was heavy; then he spoke around Anakin. "Padawan Audris," he said, "you have said nothing in your own defense. Do you wish to be readmitted to the Order, despite your past offences?"

"More than anything I regret my past actions," Drin murmured. "I am sorry for my betrayal. I would be forever grateful if the Council consented to take me back."

Windu nodded. "Very well." Looking at his fellow members, he said, "I do not believe we need to hear anymore. We can make our decision now."

Nods of assent moved across the room.

"The Council will notify you when we have made our decision," said Windu. "It will be a while."

Anakin bowed in acquiescence, Drin as well, and they left the Council Chamber.

* * *

Windu had been quite serious when he had said that the Council's decision would be some time in coming. Drin was not summoned back later that day, nor the day after that. And while he still remained in Jedi/not-Jedi limbo, he had other things to attend to—like talking to his Master, and Aviva.

Anakin had offered to go with him, but Drin had turned him down, and Anakin didn't push. Ka'ela didn't seem to hold a grudge; Aviva, Drin admitted, had seemed otherwise.

"She said everything was fine, but she wouldn't look at me," he said worriedly. "And her face was all pale. Do you think—"

He stopped, and Anakin, tossing a paperweight from hand to hand as he sat on the couch, looked up to say, "Think what?"

"Do you think I could have hurt her?" Drin asked. "I mean, seriously hurt her."

Anakin shook his head. "She's a Knight, but she's still young," he said. "It may take her a while to forgive you. Don't worry; you've done all you can."

Conversation lulled for a moment, but Drin seemed still to be thinking. He sat on the floor, leaning against Anakin's wall and chewing his lip until the words inside his brain wouldn't be pent up any longer.

"How are you so different from me?" he blurted out. The question caught Anakin so by surprise that he nearly dropped the paperweight.

"What do you mean?" he asked, leaning forward in his seat. Drin sighed.

"You're not that much older than me. I know that. But look at me," he mourned. "I do stupid stuff like this. I nearly get myself thrown out of the Order. I disobey the Council. And you—you killed a _Sith_. You're the one the Council trusts when things are really dangerous. And you always know the right thing to say."

Of course, Anakin's immediate instinct was to deny this fact. But he hesitated. There was a difference, wasn't there, between the person he was now and the person he had been once? Slow, subtle changes in six long years had taken their toll, for better or worse.

"I don't know if you were aware of this or not," Anakin began, his voice halting, "but some years ago, my Master died. Master Windu took me on for the last year of my training."

Drin was nodding. "I know," he said. "I remember that."

"Master Kenobi—" Anakin broke off a moment, pressing the knuckles of his right hand to his lips as he thought, very hard, how best to convey the image of Obi-Wan to someone who had never known him. "Master Kenobi was the strictest, most perfect Jedi that ever existed. And he was like my father. He was always right, and he was always kind." He looked up to flash a grin at his pupil. "I used to be like what you were talking about, you know. Force, I was probably the most annoying teenager that ever lived, and you were right when you said I'd touched the Dark Side, but when he died…"

Anakin licked his lips. "This—is going to sound strange," he said, "but the universe needed someone like that. Someone like him, if not my Master himself. When he joined the Force, I had a choice. I came very close to falling to the Dark Side, but I chose instead to go the other way. To fill the hole that he'd left, if only a little. And the funny thing is, it was hardly even my choice." He grimaced. "It would probably make more sense if you knew him."

Drin's head was tilted to the side. "I think I do," he said quietly.

"Don't be glib," Anakin warned him, frowning, but Drin shook his head.

"I wasn't."

* * *

The Council called Drin back after two more days of deliberation. Anakin was not technically summoned, but it was assumed that he would come anyway, and he did. This time, though, it was Drin who stood in the very center of the star pattern tiled on the floor, and Anakin who stayed back.

"This has not been an easy decision for the Council," Windu told the boy.

"I thank you for your time," murmured Drin, his head bowed. Butterflies danced in his stomach—Anakin could feel them—but Drin did his best to quell their movements.

"Have you made your peace with Padawan Kenmur and your Master?" asked Windu.

"I have."

"That is well. Have they forgiven you?"

He hesitated. "I—I do not know, Master," he admitted. "I believe so, but I cannot say for sure. I hope that they have."

Windu nodded approvingly. "Good. Your honesty is to be commended. But I believe we have larger things at hand… No doubt you wish to hear of your punishment, for rest assured, there will be one."

Then Yoda spoke the magic words.

"Despite your offenses against the Jedi, Padawan Audris, chosen not to expel you, the Council has."

Drin's whole body shuddered with relief as the nearly physical weight was lifted from his shoulders. Anakin grinned.

"You understand that you are a special case," continued Windu—Drin nodded hastily—"and as such, certain precautions must be taken. The Council has discussed this and reached a consensus. The new year having only just begun, you will not be assigned nor allowed any missions until it has ended. You are to devote yourself instead in that time to the study of the Jedi Order and its philosophy, history, and teachings, to straighten the path onto which you have strayed. Master Brun will be responsible for holding you to this. Remember that if this is not obeyed, the Council will not be so lenient again."

"I understand," said Drin, swallowing. "Thank you—thank you, Master." He bowed and quickly exited the room. Anakin, however, did not follow. Instead, he stepped forward.

"I thank you, as well," he said. "I know you didn't want to give him a second chance, but I truly believe that he deserves it."

Windu shot a reciprocated glance at Master Gallia, as though they shared a secret, and then looked back at Anakin. That faint smile, visible only to those who knew him well, played once again at his lips.

"You know, Anakin," he said, "if something like this had happened only a few years ago, I would have thought that you had been a poor influence on the boy." He paused. "But as it is…I cannot help but thinking that you might have been the only truly good influence he had left."

It was with those bewildering words ringing in his ears that Anakin left the Council Chamber. Drin was waiting for him, eager and grateful.


	39. An Unpleasant Surprise

**Author's Note: Um. I am deeply, truly sorry about the late update. The chapter was actually written pretty early, but complications ensued, things were said, mistakes were made, and many llamas were tragically and needlessly killed (okay, so that last thing didn't really happen). I and my muse hit a major glitch, and we've spent a good deal of the past month going over it. It's almost fixed, so as soon as that's done, normal updates will resume. And I promise, the next one will NOT take a full month. (At this point, the author feels so guilty that she crawls into a hole and dies.)**

**Quick pronunciation guide, before I forget: "Brigia" is pronounced "BREE-gee-ya".**

* * *

Anakin was now stuck in a permanent position of teacher and general mentor to Drin Audris, and did not resent this. He was anxious to see the effect a year of devoted study might have on his pupil. Unfortunately, Anakin's duty as a Jedi called him elsewhere, only a few months after Drin's return. 

"You want me to convince a planet to join the New Alliance?" Nothing showed overtly in his manner; only the eyebrows slightly raised, the tightened lips, told Windu that this was not a mission Anakin would easily accept.

"Anakin, General Grievous requested you specifically," he said. "You should be flattered."

"What if I have other things to do?"

"You don't, and I won't lie to someone who has total control over half the universe. That sort of thing never ends well."

Anakin did not answer, choosing instead to look at the wall over his shoulder with intense interest. Windu sighed; he could be so stubborn sometimes.

"Authority on Brigia is chaotic, at best," he said. "Their government has been in tatters ever since the last member of their royal line died a few decades ago, and the problem's only getting worse."

"Why the Alliance?" asked Anakin. "Why not the Republic?"

"Because Grievous has been attempting to earn the Brigans' trust for some time. He believes that it holds a vast amount of nova crystallite underneath the surface, which he could mine and sell for a fair price. He needs such funds—the Republic does not."

"Isn't that exploitation?"

"Anakin—!" Windu was a Jedi Master of the highest rank, but that didn't mean that his former Padawan couldn't make him want to explode with frustration on occasion. An occupational hazard, he supposed, of being too closely involved with Anakin Skywalker. He calmed himself before speaking. "This is not about Grievous or the Republic. Right now, it's about ensuring the permanent safety of this planet. Make sure they've got laws and a leader—then worry about whose side they're on."

Oh, he knew Anakin wanted to comment on that, to say _something_ about taking sides. Thankfully, the Knight only nodded, if with obvious reluctance. "As you wish, Master," he muttered.

* * *

Brigia, in ancient times, had been a beautiful planet, wide plains stretching over the vast horizon, which was broken only occasionally by the odd town or hunting camp. Sadly, during the Great Sith War, the planet had been used brutally as a battleground, and now the formerly lush fields, flat as ever, were nothing but burnt soil. 

Even Kerea, a city, reflected the earth's sad status. The stones from which the city walls were built were permanently streaked with ash, giving the place an air of somberness that it simply couldn't help, no matter how cheerful its residents. This, in addition to the faint and ominous undertones that the planet's history provided to those touched by the Force, made Brigia one of the more interesting places that Anakin had ever visited in his history of diplomatic missions.

No sooner did his ship touch down on the ashen ground of Kerea's docking bay than a man emerged from a nearby building. He greeted Anakin as the Jedi hopped out of the cramped cockpit, eager to stretch his legs.

"Welcome to Kerea, Master Jedi," said the man. He could not have been more than a few years older than Anakin himself, perhaps four or five, with spiky red hair, pale, freckled skin, and a smugness about his manner. "Your visit is an honor to our fair city."

"I thank you for consenting to have me," Anakin replied, his legs aching. "Not all planets would be so hospitable toward Jedi."

"Not all cities, either," the man pointed out. It seemed an odd response. "But forgive me, I have not introduced myself. My name is Abrat San-Vo. I have been commissioned by the Kerean lord to act as your interpreter."

"My interpreter?"

"Here on Brigia, we have very little contact with other worlds, and learning Basic has never been a necessity. In order that you might be able to communicate with the rest of our population, Lord Sathiel asked for someone to volunteer as your interpreter, and I was proud to offer my services as one of the few Basic-speaking sentients in Kerea."

"You speak it very well," said Anakin. "Is Lord Sathiel expecting to see me?"

"She is, but she is very busy today," said Abrat regretfully. "In the meantime, I've been instructed to take you to your rooms in the Hall."

He began leading the way toward a waiting speeder, parked against a high stone wall, and Anakin followed. Something bothered at him. "She?" he repeated. "Lord Sathiel is a woman?"

"Of course," said Abrat, looking faintly surprised. "Why should she not be?"

Anakin blinked. "Well, calling her a Lord made me think…"

At this, Abrat chuckled. "I can understand your confusion," he said, stepping into the landspeeder and motioning for Anakin to do the same. "The title of 'Lord' is universal on Brigia. Each city has one, no matter if they are a man or a woman. They are the governors of their city—although here in Kerea, there is not much to govern. The people here are quite well-behaved and gentle."

"I have no doubt of it," said Anakin, wondering privately if everyone on Brigia made such random remarks about the good nature of their city, or if it was just this one man.

It was only a short drive along the white-black streets of stone until they reached what was presumably the Hall, a tall building of at least three stories, with high, rounded ceilings and an air of elegance about it. Abrat led the way up the stairs and inside to the second floor, showing Anakin to a simple set of rooms.

"In my capacity of service to the Lord, my apartment is very close to yours," he told Anakin. "If there is anything you need, don't hesitate to ask me. The servants might be by to clean, but you can send them away."

"Of course," Anakin said blandly. "Thank you for your trouble." Abrat was a bit supercilious for his tastes, and right now the Jedi preferred solitude to his company. Abrat left, and he was given it. Anakin's time, aimless though it was, belonged to him for the moment—he ran through a few katas to stretch his cramped muscles, then found the sleep couch in the bedroom and rested.

He awoke only a few hours later to the sound of a gentle knock upon his door and Abrat's voice calling, "Master Jedi?". Anakin fumbled with the covers a moment, his mind unusually befuddled. Some dream…hadn't there been a flower in it? And if not a flower, then _something_ dark which had suddenly burst into flagrant color, reds and yellows and bright orange.

"Master Jedi!" called Abrat again. Anakin, shaking off the sleep, rose quickly and opened the door. "Master Jedi, Lord Sathiel is ready to see you."

They traveled downstairs to the receiving rooms, around which the rest of the Hall was centered. These rooms were simplistically decorated as well, with only a few tapestries and Alderaanian moss paintings hanging from the walls, and the tiled floors a basic black.

A woman stepped forward toward Anakin. She was tall and slender, dressed in a white robe slashed with red, and there were wrinkles at the corners of her brown eyes. Her hair was dark, and on her forehead were painted three ceremonial red dots, to match the color in her dress.

She spoke, but her words were unintelligible to the Jedi. Abrat turned to Anakin.

"Lord Sathiel of Kerea welcomes you to our city, Master Jedi. She has had some notice of your coming from the General's men, but asks to know the details of your visit."

Anakin hated using translators; he never knew whether to look at the interpreter or the person he was addressing. After a moment's hesitation, he settled on the Lord herself to be safe and said, "I have come on behalf of the Alliance, on behalf of the General himself."

Well, it hadn't killed him to say it. That was a good sign.

"My mission is only to speak with the reigning power on this planet, and ask them to consider placing themselves under the General's protection."

Sathiel made a small, pensive noise in the back of her throat and addressed Abrat once again.

"The Lord warns you that this may be a far more difficult task than you have imagined, Master Jedi," Abrat related. "There is no worldwide power on Brigia, and has not been for some time—each city governs themselves, to the best of their ability. Any decision affecting the entire planet must be ratified with every Lord of every city. That is our way."

Thank the Force for his Jedi training—none of Anakin's frustration showed as he asked, "How many cities are there on Brigia?"

Abrat was able to answer that himself. "Eleven."

_Kriff._

Sathiel was speaking again, and Anakin hastened to pay attention. "Lord Sathiel wishes to know more of this Alliance of which you speak. She says that the General's men gave her little idea as to what this might mean for our planet."

Oh, this was going to be the fun part—doing his best to earnestly persuade someone to do something against which all of Anakin's soul rebelled.

* * *

By the time they had finished speaking—the whole process took twice as long as it should have, since everything said had to be run by Abrat first—nightfall had come over Kerea. Sathiel seemed not averse to joining the Alliance, but admitted that she did not think much would come it, since it was rare that the cities agreed on anything. Anakin's head was throbbing gently as he climbed the stairs, Abrat trailing behind him. 

"Do the other ten cities of Brigia speak Basic?" Anakin asked him, feeling that, the way his luck was going, he already knew the answer. Abrat shook his head.

"They do not," he said. "If you intend to speak to every city, Master Jedi, we must leave soon. Lord Sathiel has given me permission to follow you."

Anakin gave an inward sigh. "All right," he said. "I would like to leave tomorrow." He turned away, making a mental note to ask Windu what grievous offense the Knight had committed that had caused his former Master to give him this mission.

* * *

They traveled to Morar the next day, the closest city to Kerea, and some of Anakin's long-standing questions were answered. After reading up on Brigia and meeting its inhabitants, he had been left with an impression of orderliness and stability, and he was unable to understand Windu's statement about chaos. Chaos, at least on one level, required some sort of conflict of two or more general parties; it wasn't until Anakin met the other party that he understood. 

It began with Abrat's low warning in his ear as the speeder approached Morar ("I wouldn't expect much from them"), and continued throughout the day. Apparently, something in Abrat's dress that Anakin could not see marked them as aliens in this city, and aliens obviously were not liked much here. Stares of disdain and open loathing followed them on the streets, and although most people were out of earshot, Anakin could still hear their whispers carrying on the Force, hissing, "They're _Kereans_!"

"Have you…" Anakin stopped, trying to figure out how to phrase this well. "Has anything occurred in the past that might have turned these people against Kerea?"

Abrat scowled. "It is jealousy, nothing more," he said sharply, and would say nothing more.

It wasn't until his talks in Morar were over, and Anakin and Abrat had moved onto the next city, that Anakin truly understood. Each city on Brigia stood almost as its own nation; it has its own ruler and its own laws, though they differed only slightly from each other. Force knew when this mentality had set in, but along with it had come a hatred toward all other cities on the planet. From what Anakin could gather, a war had never actually broken out, although fistfights were not uncommon. The fact that people seemed to have no real reason for this attitude deterred them not in the least from exercising it.

This only made Anakin's task that much more difficult. Now not only did he have to travel over a few thousand miles of blackened Brigan soil, but at each stop of eleven he had to convince the reigning Lord of the benefits of joining the Alliance. This did not get easier with time, for then he had to tell them that a few of the other cities on Brigia had agreed to his proposal, and they seemed set firmly on doing whatever it was that the other cities were not.

Anakin began to lose track of time. It wasn't until he was back on the ship, ready to leave for Coruscant again, that he realized that it had taken him nearly five months on Brigia to accomplish his mission of getting eleven consents.

He felt lethargic and frustrated, not caring what he had done. He was tired of politics and diplomacy and smiling; with a sigh, Anakin went to the cockpit to set to coordinates for home. There was a message waiting for him; Anakin played it.

No, it wasn't a message, not a hologram anyway. It was automated; in a crisp mechanical voice, a droid announced repeatedly, "Distress signal sent from Jedi Transport 147-43. Status: urgent. Distress signal sent from Jedi Transport—"

Anakin shut it off. His lethargy had gone; now his instincts were on edge. The message, he saw, was over a week old. Probably too late for him to do anything about it, but regardless, Anakin pinpointed the location of the distressed ship.

That was strange. Of all places, it was on Coruscant. With a few quick movements, Anakin sent the ship plummeting into hyperspace. He thought he remembered, though he wasn't certain, that 147-43 was the ship Ka'ela Brun and her Padawan usually took on their missions…

Anakin went in back and slept, but fitfully; and he dreamed of the orange flower again.


	40. So Jedi

Anakin couldn't help being slightly relieved. The last time he had come home from a mission, the Council had been frantic and the Force in disarray. But there were none of those dark tremors as he landed now. Leaving his ship in the hangar, he headed to the Council Chamber to make his report, and to ask about the distress signal he had received.

To his surprise, there was no one there. The room was in a rare state of emptiness. Perplexed, Anakin went to the next best place, and that was Windu's apartment.

"Where is everyone?" he asked immediately upon entrance. "Where's the Council?"

Windu nodded, as though he had anticipated these questions. His face appeared rather grave. "They are on Endor, investigating," he said. Anakin's brow creased with confusion.

"Why?"

"We thought it would be best not to send any more Knights or Padawans there after what happened, just in case. Of course, we couldn't leave the Temple alone, so I elected to stay behind."

"Why—" Anakin stopped, remembering that he had already tried that question, and started another. "What happened on Endor?"

Windu stopped. "Hasn't anyone told you?" he asked.

"Told me what?"

Windu looked startled, the second rare moment of the day. "Force, I hardly know where to begin," he muttered. "There were…problems, while you were away. Drin—"

"No." The word fell from Anakin's numb lips.

"It's not what you think," Windu hastened to assure him. "Quite the opposite, in fact. But it's a long story; you may want to sit down."

The thing had begun, said Windu, less than two weeks before Anakin's return to the Temple. There were reports from traders and pilots about strange happenings on Endor's surface, movement where there hadn't been and life forms where there should have been none. Ka'ela Brun had volunteered for the mission and asked to take her Padawan with her; since the end of Drin's sentence was so close, the Council had agreed.

"If we had known," Windu added, "we never would have let him go. It would have seemed like asking for trouble."

The Master-Padawan team had traveled to Endor. They did not expect to find anything, and the Masters did not expect them to. But then the Council received a distress signal from their ship, still nestled safely in the underbrush of Endor. It was of the highest urgency, though there was no accompanying message from either Drin or Ka'ela. The Council, perturbed, sent three of their number to investigate, and reached them in that same day.

It didn't take them long to find the ship, and with it, Ka'ela Brun. She was tied securely and gagged within the cockpit—it was only by the purest luck that she had been so situated as to be able to send a distress signal from her position. When she was freed, she blurted out her story.

They had been ambushed, she said. Not long after they had landed, Drin, carelessly searching through the bushes, had found a stairwell carved into the earth, made of black stone. They had been about to explore it when through the trees had stepped the last two people anyone expected to see on Endor.

"There were two of them?" Anakin had already guessed who one of them was.

"He had found another apprentice, you see," sighed Windu heavily. "We were fools not to see it sooner. We were led off the track by Drin's false alarm, and by the time that was over, it was far too late. She had already joined him, and it was only a matter of time before she revealed herself."

"She?" Anakin echoed.

Windu nodded. "She," he repeated.

* * *

Anakin found Drin in the med ward late that night, after the hubbub of healers and daytime patients had quieted down. He had spent hours walking through the halls of the meditation wing with Master Windu, listening to the full account, absorbing all the details and yet still unable to consider them real. At length he'd decided that he would have to talk to the one person whom it had hit hardest before any of it would feel like truth.

The door to Drin's room was shut and guarded by a softly blinking light. Anakin paused.

"Can I go in?" he asked a nearby healer.

She hesitated for a moment, calling something up on the screen that she was monitoring.

"Padawan Audris? Yes, he's receiving visitors, but he's heavily sedated for the pain. I'm not sure he'll recognize you." Anakin thanked her and went in anyway.

Drin was lying still on a high and sterile bed. It seemed to Anakin at first that his friend was asleep, but as he drew near he saw that Drin's eyes were open, and he was staring at the dark ceiling, where the sterilized light surrounding the bed and its monitors did not penetrate.

He closed the door. For a moment neither of them said anything. Anakin glanced toward the intravenous lines strung between the bed and the monitors, where one of them had been carefully disconnected. A sigh escaped his lips. Drin had stopped the sedatives and chosen the pain.

"I killed her," murmured Drin. "I killed Aviva."

Anakin sank into the nearby chair. "I know."

"It was her, all along…"

Anakin ran his gaze over the semi-transparent cast and brace that kept Drin's right leg uniformly straight. "Are you all right?" he asked. His next words he spoke aloud without meaning to: "You look different."

"It kind of hurts," said Drin thickly. Pain was lucid on his face. An old adage passed around the berths of senior Padawans said that pain kept one awake, cleared the mind, allowed one to think. Whether from lack of sedation or some other, deeper stripping away of something, the sullen mystery that had seemed to shroud Drin's presence in the past was gone. His eyes were bright; Anakin felt, as he watched his friend staring up at the dark ceiling, that Drin was somehow looking eye to eye with a reflection of himself.

"I wish you'd been there," Drin said after a pause.

Anakin took a breath. "I'm here now," he murmured. "I'm glad you're safe. You've been very brave, Drin. Every Jedi should be honoring you for what you've done."

"I know," replied Drin.

A few moments more passed into silence.

* * *

"Master Skywalker, I have the results of his scans. Would you like to see them?"

"Please."

Aviva Kenmur. She had been so kind, so sweet, so…so Jedi. Perhaps that was the reason no one had suspected—for no one, not a soul, had suspected. Even after she had changed, even after she began withdrawing from her closest friends, disappearing as a Knight from the Temple for long periods of time, no one had a thought of suspicions. They could not think of her as she was now. They could no more envision Aviva swathed in black and carrying a lightsaber that burned red light than they could a Gungan clown.

Anakin could imagine how it had happened. The Jedi could never have expected anything like this, and so they were hardly prepared. Dooku and Aviva had stepped into perfectly executed Sith battle stances and destroyed them. Weary from their long travel and unequipped to handle an attack from a Sith Lord, Drin and Ka'ela Brun would have fought back valiantly, until one of them was inevitably wounded, and then, all too swiftly, the second would stumble, leave an opening, and fail.

Except that Drin didn't. Master Windu and those of the Council who had been present had listened with increasing apprehension and awe as Ka'ela described having been forced apart from her apprentice by Dooku, leaving her to battle the aged Sith Lord on her own. While he was in the process of defeating her and holding her captive in the confines of her own ship, Drin was making his escape the only way he could: down the stone steps into whatever blackness they led to. Aviva, furious, had chased after him.

"Master Skywalker."

The healer was waiting insistently by his elbow. Anakin sighed and attempted to concentrate again. It was early in the morning; he had waited by Drin's bedside in silence for almost four hours, simply offering his presence for whatever it was worth. It was dark in that room. Dooku had bound Ka'ela Brun in a ship that was to be programmed straight into the nearest star. The same fate had been planned for Drin. The Council had found him at the end of that stairwell, despite the darkness they felt, a darkness that, Windu attested, had wrapped around their bones, unnatural and ancient. It led downwards, the earth closing above them, for at least half a mile until it opened into a wide, circular room. The ceiling was low and confining, and the darkness was present there as well, along with other, more important things, like Drin's lightsaber blade, still humming and rolled several feet from his hand. Drin was there too, passed out, his right leg twisted at a strange angle.

To catch her prey, Anakin knew, Aviva had used the Dark Side of the Force against his body as he ran, crushing the bone in his leg. Even crippled, Drin had still gotten as far as the lower room, where he had been forced to confront her in battle. Aviva was found dead by a lightsaber wound, her short apprenticeship to the Sith ended forever. The Force only knew how Drin had won that battle, fighting as he was the darkness that strengthened his opponent with every passing second.

"This part of the bone—you see, here, a few inches above the ankle—was crushed to dust." The healer pointed out some meaningless numbers, then showed him the much more relevant picture of the injured leg. "Some emergency surgeries were performed immediately after his return to the Temple. He will walk on it soon enough, but never without a severe limp."

Anakin swallowed hard as something small and heavy landed in the pit of his stomach. He returned the flimsies to her hand. "Thank you," he said too late, after she'd already left.

He came across Windu as the sun was rising, casting golden shadows through the crossyard in the center of the Temple's ground levels. The Jedi Master approached him solemnly and returned his greeting.

"Any news on the Count's whereabouts since the attack?" He knew it was a hopeless question, but enough missions in the past had taught him to ask ahead anyway.

Windu shook his head. "Master Brun and Drin were both fortunate that the Council members arrived when we did. Dooku knew he wasn't prepared to defend himself against all three of us. He left his apprentice and ran."

Anakin grimaced. "True Sith loyalty."

* * *

When Anakin had killed Palpatine, the archaic rule of a Padawan's rite of passage had been called back into play. None of the Council had expected that, and none of them had thought that it would ever be used again afterwards. On both counts, however, they were wrong. Not two weeks after Drin had begun to walk again did the Council summon him to the Testing Center. They had meant to wait, Windu explained, until Stass Allie had returned from her mission to Cerea, but she was delayed, so it was only eleven Masters that met Drin there.

When Anakin had killed Palpatine, he was accepted automatically as a Knight. With Drin, the Council could not be so lenient. The Testing Center was where Padawans were tested to their physical and mental limits when it came time for them to take the Trials.

It was an enormous section of the Temple, consisting of two main parts. Eighty percent of the Center was the physical section, and this contained a large obstacle course, complete with holographic surroundings and enemies, stretching so far that it was impossible to see the entire section from end to end while on a level plane with it. For this reason, there was a wide glass window that opened high above the trainees' heads.

The other part of the Testing Center was much smaller, and separated from the other. This, too, used holographics to test the Padawans, but it required no physical exertion save that of speech. The apprentice in question stood in the center of the room, and holograms appeared around him, testing not his knowledge but his instincts. Anakin had heard that the holograms often appeared in the form of birth parents, or beloved friends. Practice and discipline was all it took to pass the other two tests, but this section made it obvious how deeply the Jedi philosophy was embedded in the Padawan's soul, and no amount of practice could change that. Anakin was always secretly glad that he had been allowed to skip the Trials; if his mother or Obi-Wan had appeared before him, the Force only knew how he might have reacted.

When the holograms had disappeared, the Padawan stood where he was and the twelve Council members entered the room with him. Without mercy they fired off questions about history, philosophy, the Code, life and death, the Force, anything they chose. This third test, though possibly the easiest of the triad, was by far the most intimidating.

Due to Drin's unusual circumstances as well as his injury, he was not required to undergo the physical part of the Trials. Given his history, however, the Council could not afford to trust him blindly; he was ushered into the Center as Anakin watched from above. Ferus joined him wordlessly, and together they stood as Drin went forward into the circular room and the first hologram appeared, its mouth moving but no words audible from their vantage point. Anakin grimaced at the sight of Drin's pained movement, each step of his right leg stilted and short.

"It isn't fair," he muttered. Ferus glanced at him.

"I would have thought you'd be pleased by this," he said. Anakin looked helplessly at the ceiling, shaking his head.

"Not the Knighting. I'm proud of him. But it isn't fair. The Force cheated him."

Ferus understood. "You mean his leg?" Anakin nodded; his jaw was clenched tightly.

"He's hardly nineteen and he's got the limp of an old warrior. You know as well as I do that he'll never do any of the things he loves again. He can't fight, not really. He can't run obstacle courses or sims. He'll be in pain for the rest of his life. It's not right."

Ferus tried to help. "Anakin, you were gone a long time," he said. "I've seen Drin around the Temple. He's different now. He's not so…physically-minded as he once was. He's learned to appreciate more than just running and fighting. That year changed him, not dramatically, but for the better. Maybe—" Ferus's shoulders rose and fell. "Maybe it's not so horrible for him."

For a moment, Anakin was quiet. Below them, another hologram rose out of the smoky surroundings, materializing from nowhere—a dark-haired mother, carrying an infant in her arms. Distantly Anakin wondered if Drin knew her.

"It's not so much that," he murmured faintly. "When I look at him now, I can—I can see what he should be—" Anakin found himself grasping for the right words. "There's something inside of him, Drin as he should be, strong and whole; and that's _right_. But I can see what he is—what he was meant to be, but changed, like the Force warped what was right. And it isn't fair. It couldn't be."

Ferus was looking at him with a very strange expression on his face. "You know, Anakin," he said, "sometimes I worry about you."

"What?" His words hadn't sounded condescending, as that expression was usually used. "Why?"

"You see life so differently than the rest of the Jedi, even than the Masters," Ferus explained. "You—never mind."

"No, tell me," Anakin insisted, momentarily distracted from the sight below. His curiosity had been piqued. Ferus shrugged. He spoke reluctantly.

"I sometimes think you've been somewhere, to the other side of the Force, maybe," he said, "and seen life as it was truly meant to be: not just without sins and faults, but deep in the other extreme, pure and precious. The Masters, the Jedi, we all see life as something to be saved and salvaged; but you see what could be, and what should be. Not that you're blind to the wrongs around you—" Ferus was struggling now "—they…hurt more for you. The rest of us can only see to the middle of the spectrum, but you see beyond that, to something better. And that's why it hurts you so badly. So yes, sometimes I worry about you." There was a pause. "And, maybe sometimes, I envy you for it."

Anakin was not sure what to say to that. He didn't know how to explain to his friend that it did not seem like a trait worth envying, for all the pain it caused. So they watched in silence, until one of the Masters nodded, and the questions stopped. Drin had passed.


	41. Follow The Force

Stass Allie, absent from Drin's Trials, was also gone from his Knighting ceremony, and she did not return in the weeks afterward. Anakin noticed this, but did not think to comment. There were many things, he knew, that the Council chose not to share with the rest of the Temple, for whatever reason.

So nothing was said until one random day, when Anakin went to the Council Chamber to discuss a trivial matter with Windu. It was preplanned, so Anakin expected the Chamber to be nearly empty. Instead, to his surprise, he walked in without thinking on a full-blown meeting of the Council. Anakin was embarrassed.

"Forgive me, Masters," he said quickly, "I should have—" It was then that he saw the looks upon their faces and the hologram in the center of the room: Grievous.

"No, Anakin, stay," Windu ordered. He was (to the eyes of another Jedi) severely shaken. Grievous, however, could not have seen that. Whatever Grievous was saying, it must have been something terrible to agitate Anakin's Master like that.

At Windu's gesture, Anakin sat in the one empty seat in the room. Grievous could not frown, but his demeanor gave the impression that he was doing so behind his mask.

"These things need not be heard by anyone who is not a member of the Council," he said pointedly.

"Master Skywalker, as you well know," answered Windu, "is one of our most able Knights. As it is very probable that he will undertake this mission, perhaps it is best that he remains. If you could reiterate the situation for him…"

Mission? Anakin thought, confused.

"Master Skywalker," said Grievous, addressing himself curtly to the Knight, "I will make this brief. Only a few days ago, Master Stass Allie was caught breaking into a highly restricted Alliance building on Morav, in the Perlemian Cluster. The information she was found carrying when she was apprehended was extremely classified and under no circumstances to be released to the general public. We have determined that she planned to sell these secrets to those unscrupulous beings who would pay highly for them."

Anakin's face registered nothing but shock. Stass Allie—Master Stass Allie—

"You must be mistaken," he said automatically. It was the first thought that came to mind. "A member of the Jedi Council would never do such a thing."

"Rest assured that I am not," said Grievous, his voice almost—_almost_—a snarl. "You do realize, Master Skywalker, the impact of Master Allie's actions? The Republic-Alliance treaty has been betrayed with this gross invasion of my government's privacy. We have been violated by the very peacekeepers of the universe. For how am I to know that her actions were not sanctioned by each one of you?" He glared accusingly at the other members of the Council. He made no pretense of hiding his anger.

Anakin opened his mouth to protest again at this insult, but Grievous interrupted him, speaking to Windu.

"Master Windu, we have already discussed this, and I have no desire to go over the particulars again."

"I understand, General," said Windu. "A negotiator will be sent as quickly as possible to you. I hope you will not allow this unfortunate incident to affect your relationship with the Republic and Chancellor Amidala."

Grievous's only answer was a look to the side and a hand twitching the side of his cloak, and then his image disappeared. He was gone, but he had left behind a feeling of unbearably heavy bleakness. Anakin, still confused, was the only one not affected by it.

"This can't be for real," he protested. "Master, you know better than I that Master Allie would never—"

"For personal gain, no," commented Yoda. "For other reasons—perhaps."

"What other reasons could there possibly be?" Anakin demanded heatedly. He could not understand the Council's defeated attitude.

"What Master Yoda means, Anakin," said Windu, leaning forward to place his head in his hands, "is that perhaps Master Allie discovered something that the rest of us know nothing about. Perhaps, as we have suspected before, Grievous is being played for a fool by a subordinate."

"So tell him that!" Anakin cried, nearly jumping out of his seat. "What's the worst that can happen?"

Windu took his head out of his hands to look Anakin straight in the eye. "The worst," he said slowly, "the very, absolute, rock-bottom worst, is that the Jedi Order will be dissolved."

Anakin's mouth fell open in a most ungraceful manner, as it had an annoying tendency to do in times like this.

"That is not an immediate probability—in fact, it's highly unlikely—but it is not inconceivable. Public feeling right now toward the Jedi is not hostile, per se, but nor is it beneficial. The Republic never really got over what happened with Chancellor Palpatine, and you know that Amidala has never been our great supporter. Understand, Anakin, that Grievous is not over-exaggerating when he tells you how serious this breach is."

Anakin was still trying to get over the feeling that he had been punched in the stomach by a Republic cruiser. "So…what can we do?" he asked weakly. From across the room, Ki Adi Mundi answered him.

"Grievous has asked us to send a negotiator to him on Orest 6, to arrange for the best possible outcome and—if possible—for Master Allie's release. We had not discussed this at all, but Master Windu spoke for all of us when he suggested that you go."

The breath left Anakin's throat quickly. "Master," he said—his voice cracked with surprise—"I'm honored, but—I am not ready for such a responsibility. Don't put the life of a Jedi Master in my hands."

"Difficult as this may be for you to believe," said Windu, dryly, "I was being absolutely truthful when I told Grievous that you were one of our most talented Knights. You have advanced far beyond my expectations for you in a very short time. I believe you are fully capable of this. So take that, and be proud of it."

* * *

Anakin had to leave that very day in order to reach Grievous as soon as possible. He was given strict instructions to call for a member of the Council without hesitation, should anything potentially dangerous arise. He took Ferus with him, because he always took Ferus, and then on a whim (and because Anakin could see the silent pleading in his eyes) took Drin with him as well. It was to be his first mission as a Knight.

As they traveled, it was Anakin's job to brief the other two on this mission. Their reactions were typical.

"That's impossible!" Drin burst out.

"I'm inclined to agree with you, but we can't allow our personal interest in this to blind us." That was Ferus (no surprises there). "Just because we don't wish to believe that a Master could do something like this doesn't mean it isn't possible."

"It isn't a matter of _wishing_," Anakin insisted. "Ferus, to be a Master, a Jedi has to have been a member of the Order since childhood, passed countess tests, practically manifested the Jedi Code in sentient form—no one who's done all of those things is capable of something so low as this."

"I don't _want_ to believe it!" Ferus said. "I just don't think we should rule it out altogether."

Drin was sitting on a low sofa against the wall, while Anakin and Ferus glowered at each other on either side. Rubbing his ankle—it still ached sometimes, even when he wasn't putting weight on it—Drin looked at Anakin disbelievingly and asked, "Is he always like this?"

"Always," Anakin answered grimly. "There's no 'off' switch. I've looked."

"Yes, you're very funny," Ferus shot back, giving Anakin a look that would have melted wallpaper onto the floor. He didn't like being teased.

Their ship was one of the fastest the Council could provide, so a trip that normally took three or four days was made in two. There was, however, an unusual delay: out of nowhere, less half a day before they were to reach their destination, the ship gave a shuddering lurch which told its occupants that they had been forcibly jerked out of hyperspace.

Anakin's first thought was pirates, but no—a quick survey of the area showed no nearby ships.

"What's going on?" asked Drin, coming up behind him. No doubt pirates were foremost in his mind as well.

"I don't know yet," Anakin replied absently, his hands moving across the control panel. Without warning, a hologram appeared on the projector. It was an image none of them recognized, probably some nameless official of Grievous's.

"Warning," announced the automated message. "You have attempted to enter a restricted area of Alliance space."

"Where are we?" asked Ferus. Anakin was still busily checking the controls.

"The Perlemian Cluster," he answered. "This is where Master Allie was found."

"It is suggested that you plot a course around this area," the hologram continued. "Failure to do so will result in the destruction of your ship."

"I guess they're serious about keeping people out," Ferus muttered. "Okay, let's go around. It won't take that much longer."

Anakin nodded and began the task of reprogramming the ship. "This doesn't make sense, though," he said. "There's a lot of active trade that goes on through this area. Why would they block it off?" A few more movements, the ship shot into hyperspace, and no one answered Anakin's question.

* * *

Grievous was waiting for them on his flagship, directly above Orest 6's atmosphere.

"Master Skywalker," he greeted, granting them a small bow, "I am most grateful to you for coming so quickly."

"Of course," Anakin answered. A few more pleasantries were exchanged as Anakin introduced Ferus and Drin, but the tone of the room was dark and solemn, killing small talk very effectively. It wasn't long before Grievous suggested they get down to business.

They sat around a long table, the Jedi on one side, Grievous and a Bothan aide on the other. Ferus started, with the most pressing question.

"Where is Master Allie now?" he asked.

"She is being held on Morav," Grievous answered. "There is a containment center there."

"Is that all that's on Morav?" Anakin asked. "When we tried to fly through the Perlemian Cluster today, it was restricted with firepower."

Grievous shrugged. "I have delegated control of that area to one of my subordinates. His report tells me there is nothing more of interest to you in the Cluster."

Anakin wanted to press the issue further—who exactly was this subordinate, anyway?—but knew there were more important things at hand. "So the question stands," he said, leaning back in his chair. "What happens now? What do you want from the Jedi?" Grievous was quick with his answer.

"Total and indubitable proof that the Jedi Order was not in any way behind this abominable attack on my privacy."

"You phrased that in a very hostile manner."

"I consider this to be a very hostile matter, Master Skywalker."

Ferus interrupted. "And what if the Jedi cannot give you proof to your satisfaction?" he asked. "The Council has already given you its collective word that this was never their intention."

"Then I would have no choice but to keep Master Allie a prisoner of the Alliance," Grievous replied coldly. His words sent a shock through everyone in the room (except for the aide, who was busily writing on a datapad as the exchange took place). It was so drastic that no one had expected it. Anakin was the first to recover.

"You would hold a Jedi Master prisoner, against their will?" he demanded, his voice straining to remain civil. "Men have died for such offenses in the past. Don't you realize that such an explosive action could only lead to war?"

Even the Bothan looked up from his datapad at that.

"War?" Grievous repeated. "I think not. Master Skywalker, have you heard Chancellor Amidala's reaction to this matter yet?"

"No," Anakin was forced to admit, "I have not."

"Then perhaps you should not be so quick to declare a state of war. The Supreme Chancellor is far less eager to defend the Jedi than you might hope. If you cannot satisfy me and retributions are demanded by the Alliance—in whatever form—it is far more likely that Chancellor Amidala will sacrifice the Jedi, rather than her beloved Republic."

So there it was, the closest Grievous would ever get to saying what he truly wanted out of this discussion: the dissolution of the Order. He was still the same after all this time, unable to see past his anger and thirst for revenge. One Jedi had wronged him, and he would see all the Jedi punished for it.

"May we see these documents that Master Allie apparently stole from you?" Drin broke in. "Apparently" was not the most diplomatic choice of words, but it sufficed for the Jedi's pride. Grievous started to shake his head, then hesitated, and seemed to reconsider.

"Perhaps that would be for the best," he said. "Jedi are no longer known to me for their trustworthiness, but I will allow this. I have nothing I wish to hide from the Jedi—only crime lords and their like."

He stood, and motioned for the Bothan to follow him. They led the Jedi down a maze of corridors—Grievous assured them that their destination was not far—until they reached an office, of sorts. There were a few shelves of holobooks, and a desk that stood against the bulkhead. There was a Falleen sitting at the desk, his skin green and leathery as was typical of his species; his back was turned toward them. When he heard footsteps, however, he turned in his chair and rose.

"General." He greeted Grievous with a low bow. "Master Jedi." They got a nod.

"The Jedi have asked to see the documents their leader stole," said Grievous shortly. "Master Skywalker, this is Xakan. He is the one I told you about, in full charge of the Perlemian Cluster, and he will answer all of your questions. If you do not mind, I have some business to take care of with my aide. I will be in the meeting room when you are finished."

"Of course." Grievous left, taking his Bothan with him, and the Jedi turned to the Falleen.

"I have the documents here, all of them," said Xakan, taking them from his desk. The motions of his hands were smooth and graceful, almost slippery, a trait very typical of the Falleen race. His voice was like a whisper, though it wasn't quiet—even for a Falleen, Xakan reminded Anakin so forcefully of a lizard that he half expected to see a forked tongue come shooting out of his mouth. "You may look at them as you like."

He gave them to Anakin, who shared them with the other Jedi. They were key-codes and passwords to the cells of high-security prisoners, locations of expensive and easily sold equipment, and the like. Information that was useless to an honest citizen, and the universe to a dishonest one.

"Thank you very much," said Anakin, handing the files back. "Do you mind if we ask you a few questions?"

"Not at all," Xakan told them in his snake voice, sitting down on the corner of his desk. Like most Falleens, he seemed to prefer bright colors to dull browns and tans; his tunic was a vibrant royal blue. "What is it you wish to know?"

"So you've taken charge of the Perlemian Cluster, then?" Drin asked. Xakan bowed his head affirmatively.

"The General has been kind enough to grant me authority in that area," he said. "He is already so busy, it only makes sense for him to delegate some of his responsibility."

"And it's true that Master Allie is being held there?"

"She is on Morav, yes," Xakan answered, his manner growing suddenly stiff. "Other than that, I cannot give any information."

"We understand," Anakin assured him. "So, what else is in the Perlemian Cluster besides a prison of some sort? Is there a reason it has been blocked off?"

Xakan looked at Anakin. "There is nothing of significance in the Cluster," he answered—but Anakin felt him lie. "It was blocked off for trade reasons."

"But that makes no sense," Drin argued. "Trade went right through the Cluster. Why would you block it off?"

"I am afraid I have no more time for questions," Xakan answered shortly. "No doubt the General is expecting your return."

There was nothing the Jedi could do—they returned to the meeting room, where Grievous, as promised, was waiting.

Many more things were said during the negotiation period, but it was all a downhill slope from that one moment. Hours later the Jedi left to return to their ship, but nothing had been decided and nothing had been changed. Negotiations would resume tomorrow.

Back on the transport, the mood was very somber, tension choking out any thoughts other than of the immediate situation. Below all this ran a feeling that was worse than the tension, almost like guilt but not quite, the Force wracking at their minds for reasons none of them understood. It wasn't long before they went to their respective rooms, hoping from respite from this feeling—but in sleep it only grew worse.

* * *

Not one of them slept well.

When they gathered in the central room in what the chronometer told them were Coruscant's early morning hours, soon to resume negotiations with Grievous, each Jedi saw in the others' eyes what they felt in their own minds: A perpetuating, hammering sensation in the Force, hard and unpleasant, not only because it kept them from deep sleep but because it disturbed their thoughts in dark ways.

Drin, sitting at the table, said nothing, for he no longer trusted himself when it came to the Force—not after his near escape. Anakin too would not speak, because he never knew anymore what was a vision from the Force and what was his own mind's bizarre manufacturings. After all, he still had those dreams about the flower, and sometimes now he heard a person screaming in the background when the flower exploded. So it was up to Ferus, Perfect-Jedi-Ferus, to say it out loud, and he did, of course, because he knew he was perfect and he had no reason to doubt himself.

"There's something wrong here," he said. Both Anakin and Drin looked up as though he had uttered the phrase that would save their lives.

"I can feel it," Ferus continued, his voice low. "I felt it all last night, and it's still there. The Force is warning me."

Anakin nodded fervently. "I know." He was so glad to hear it said out loud. "You think it's got to do with Grievous?"

"Whether it's Grievous personally or that subordinate he was talking about—and we should find out more about him—it's definitely got to do with Master Allie," Drin put in. Words, before so slow to come, now flew through the air thick and fast. No sooner was one person's sentence finished than another was begun.

"She's in danger."

"Yes." Both Ferus and Drin spoke that word simultaneously.

"Treacherous danger," Ferus added. "Someone is not keeping their word. She's not safe."

"So what do we do?"

"Rescue her!" Anakin burst out. "We can't leave her there to die!"

The words stopped. It was too dangerous a proposition to accept without question.

"If we're caught," said Ferus slowly, "even if they find that she's gone, they'll know it was us. The Council will be blamed—it will vindicate everything Grievous has said about the Jedi."

"Our duty, first and foremost, is to the Jedi Order," Anakin insisted. "We must protect it, and all of its members."

"Not above the Republic's safety!" Ferus protested. There was a moment of confused silence.

"Is there something in the Code about this, then?" Anakin asked finally. "Because I really don't know the answer."

"If we rescue Master Allie, the Republic is endangered," Ferus mused. "If we don't rescue her, the Order is endangered. So…which one takes precedence?"

Throwing up his hands, Anakin sat down next to Drin, who spoke next. "If the answer's in the Code, I don't know it. All I know is, the Force considers her important enough to save."

Anakin sighed. "We have to go," he said, with finality in his voice. "We're Jedi—we follow the Force."

"I know," Ferus said resignedly. There was a glass filled halfway with water, leftover from some time yesterday. Ferus raised it. "All right," he said. "Here's to endangering the Republic." Then he set the glass back down, because, after all, someone else had drunk from it first.


	42. Lovely, Dark, and Dead

They decided unanimously not to go back to Grievous's ship for more negotiations. If time was of the essence, then even if Grievous was innocent in all of this—which, Anakin hated to admit, was becoming more and more a likely possibility—they had to act now.

Their plan was hastily concocted, and not very thorough, consisting of three basic parts. 1. Fly into the Perlemian Cluster and land on Morav. 2. Get Master Allie. 3. Get the kriff out. No one mentioned what might happen after that, because no one wanted to think of it.

Anakin was the obvious choice for pilot, now that they had to go to manual. Even as he sat behind the controls, not even touching any part of the ship except for the seat, the Force was exploring the ship for him, radar-like, until Anakin knew the ship so well that he felt he could move it as easily and as naturally as he moved his left hand. It had always been like that for him, even on Tatooine. It was a gift, the Masters said.

Drin sat next to him, and Ferus sat behind, craning his neck to see through the viewport. "They were probably serious about the 'destruction of our ship' thing, weren't they?" Drin asked.

"Yeah, probably," Anakin answered, placing his hands on the controls. "The basic plan is to avoid that, though." He started flying at a steady pace, while plotting a hyperspace course. "We can stay in hyperspace until we hit the Cluster," he said. "Then we'll probably have to fly regular speed the rest of the way to Morav, so that'll take a few hours."

As before, they traveled without incident, until they felt that familiar lurch underneath their feet, and that same holo-message appeared.

"Warning. You have attempted to enter a restricted area of Alliance space. It is suggested…"

They paid it no attention.

"We're really doing this, aren't we?" Ferus asked, looking forward to the other two. "No turning back after we go in."

"Ah—yes, we are."

Of the three, Ferus was having the hardest time of this. Unlike Drin and Anakin, rule-breaking had never been his forte. But he nodded and sat back. "Okay, then. Let's go," he said.

Anakin needed no further telling, but began flying again, further into the forbidden zone. The hologram grew louder, an automated reaction to disobedience. "Warning! You have attempted to enter a restricted area of Alliance Space!"

They were moving fairly quickly now, space flying noiselessly past them. The nearly imperceptible thrum of the engines and the increasingly frantic voice of the holo-message were the only sounds in the cockpit. "Warning! You have attempted—"

Its message was cut off abruptly. The Jedi looked at each other, surprised, but none of them had caused it.

"Republic starship, please come in," crackled a cold voice over the commlink. This was no played-back record, but an actual sentient. "You have entered restricted Alliance space. If you do not turn back within thirty standard seconds, we will have no choice but to open fire—"

"Shut that thing off," Anakin snarled. Drin turned off all communications quickly. Now there was almost total silence—but only until the radar started beeping.

Anakin, accustomed to fighting in an ordinary Jedi starfighter, opened his mouth to instruct the Artoo unit before remembering that he didn't have one. Almost as soon as he heard the enemy units on the radar, he saw them as well, rising before him.

They were two of them, all of a very old model, so old that he was surprised even to see them. He recognized the design from a very long time ago: a small, round cockpit, barely large enough for one human, and two large, flat, vertical wings. The Republic had stopped manufacturing them long ago, despite their effectiveness in battle; they were flimsy and weakly defended, and the enormous loss of life was considered too high a cost.

And—oh yes—they were firing at him.

As soon as Anakin saw the green bolts shoot through the air, he reacted instinctively, as the Force told him. In a second his arm thrust forward, forcing the joystick down as far as it would go. The ship followed suit, plunging almost vertically downward without warning, and the bolts disintegrated in empty space.

Ferus's ragged breathing and Anakin's own heartbeat pounded in his ears, pulsating in time with the Force, which was like a drumbeat keeping him in rhythm with this deadly dance. He reacted without thinking, barely even aware what he was doing.

"…any weapons systems," Drin was murmuring to Ferus.

"Say that again," Anakin said, without turning his head.

"We don't have any weapons systems," Drin repeated, his voice remarkably—though not totally—calm. "And there are more of them coming, see?"

He was right. There had been two of them and now there were three, and one more could be seen coming up in the distance, just rounding the shadow of one of Morav's moons.

Ferus—"Where are they coming from?"

Drin—"They must have some kind of base nearby, probably on Morav."

Ferus—"Then we'll have to avoid them even after we land."

Anakin, who was only listening with half an ear, said suddenly, "We're almost there. I'm taking us down. Hang on." Ferus, having flown with Anakin before, did so immediately. Drin, less experienced, did not, and soon regretted that decision.

Morav was a tepid, humid planet, the kind of place that soldiers might be sent when they really screwed up. Its atmosphere didn't seem to be able to decide what it wanted to be, and so it had settled upon a halfhearted mixture of all sorts, with a climate that was hot and humid and impossible to enjoy, filled with scrub plants and short trees that did nobody any good. It was the perfect place for a prison, but it was a lousy place to land your ship.

As they swiftly descended their transport announced, through its usual means of communication (i.e. beeps), that it had found a single concentrated spot of life on Morav, and within moments they had a visual of a short brown prison compound. Anakin had managed to gather enough speed that when they finally landed beside it, the fighters were a few seconds behind them.

Guards in dark uniforms ran forward, shouting and pulling their blasters from their holster, but even before they reached the ship all three Jedi had left it, and were standing ready for battle. The guards hesitated when they saw their opponents, confused and frightened—taking on three armed Jedi was not something to be dealt with lightly.

"Drop your weapons and none of you will be harmed," Anakin announced brusquely. Beside him, he saw Drin glance up at the sky, where the fighters were coming round again toward them. Time was running short. The guards looked at one another uneasily. "Drop them!" Anakin barked.

One man at the front suddenly knelt and placed his blaster on the ground. Once the initiative was taken the rest followed suit, disarming themselves hastily. Ferus's hand stretched out, and Anakin heard the firing mechanisms of the weapons snapping in half one by one. Then there was an awful moment of indecision—they couldn't leave the guards alone, and there was no time to tie them up.

"I'll stay here," Ferus volunteered, knowing Anakin's thoughts.

"But the fighters—"

"I can protect myself. Go!"

Anakin nodded to Drin; they sprinted into the shadow of the compound just in time to hear a rain of blaster fire coming down on the area they had left only moments before. No time to look back, but Anakin heard no cry of pain.

Drin was already at the compound, using his lightsaber to cut his way laboriously through the locked triple-steel door. Anakin added his blade to the effort, and within seconds they had managed to produce a hole big enough for them to step awkwardly through, one at a time.

* * *

The Jedi were going inside the compound, leaving one of their own behind. Behind his black air mask, Pilot 84 frowned. The situation was getting more and more out of hand with each passing second. If the Jedi got within the compound—if they found their Master—

He signaled a pullback to the rest of the fighters, and they retreated a short distance, hanging in the air, waiting for their next command. But it did not come. Instead, 84 reached out a black gloved hand and changed the comm channel.

"Sir?"

Xakan answered from his office, his voice tense. "Yes? Have you got them?"

"No, sir," 84 answered. "They're in the compound already, sir. It will be a few minutes before they find the captive, but we can't stop them now. Not from up here, sir—and they're already holding half the guard outside."

"Shavvit," Xakan spat. He sat back in the dark leather chair, thin green lips pursed together angrily. He was thinking. After a few minutes more, he moved forward again to the comm unit. "Pilot, transmit orders to the compound guards, the ones still inside. Inform them that they must act sooner than expected."

There was a hesitant silence on the pilot's end, for 84 knew Xakan's meaning. "Sir, those were not the General's orders. He specifically said—"

"I know what the General's orders were!" barked Xakan. His skin flushed crimson, but he was not one to mindlessly vent his spleen upon hapless underlings. He calmed. "The Cluster's security is our first priority, and it is my responsibility. I will tell the General something, and you will not be punished for this. Do you understand?"

"I do, sir. Squadron moving out."

The comm channel crackled into silence, and Xakan sat back once again, his fingers pressed to his temples.

This was not supposed to happen. Blasted Jedi! But the Falleen quickly found his species' cold-blooded composure. He could manage Grievous's anger. He had done so before, and always successfully. After all, he and the General were old friends. Hadn't Grievous stressed his trust by making a point of never visiting the Perlemian Sector, never bothering to find out what went on inside it? That was Xakan's responsibility, and Grievous honored that.

Of course, in this case, that fact might end up working against the Falleen, as now all blame for the situation could go nowhere but on Xakan's shoulders.

* * *

The door opened into a narrow hallway, so tight that Anakin and Drin could not go side by side through it. Further on it opened up a bit, with a few wooden chairs scattered over the floor for the guards' use, and then closed back up into nothing but steel doors on either side of the hall, thinly spaced and thick.

Anakin shut his eyes and groped with the Force, trying to connect through the smells of urine and sweat and heat that floated around the hallway. From behind, Drin looked at him anxiously.

"I can't find her," Anakin said, shaking his head.

"Then we'll just have to open all of these doors," Drin said resolutely.

"No, there's no time!"

"There's nothing else we can do," Drin pointed out. In one quick step he ignited his lightsaber again and plunged it into the steel. He made a hole the size of his fist, then knelt and peered through it. "Master Allie!" he shouted. Nothing.

"It's empty," Drin said, standing. Anakin looked away and sighed.

"Keep trying," he said. "You take that side of the hallway, I'll take this one."

They made their way laboriously down the hallway, counting off doors, hoping every time they made a new hole and being let down every time there was no reply to their call. Anakin thought of Ferus, winced, hoping that his friend was still safe.

"There's someone in here!" Drin announced suddenly. Anakin whirled. "I can't see them very clearly, though, and they're not answering me."

Anakin squinted through the hole. Through the very corner he could see a figure lying with its back toward them, covered in blurry, drab brown. "Master Allie!" There was no answer. Anakin shoved Drin's arm. "That's got to be her," he said urgently. "We've got to get—"

"Stop, in the name of the Alliance!"

The voice echoed down the hallway. Anakin couldn't see the source, but he could hear that it came from the area from which they'd just come. Footsteps were coming fast around the corner. There was no time to rescue the person in this cell. Helpless and frustrated, Anakin hissed, "Run!" and Drin did, Anakin close behind.

There was no doubt that the guards could hear them as they ran, turning corners with haphazard carelessness. Their boots pounded against the hard floors, and the sound radiated out for all to hear. Their only hope was to circle back, rescue Master Allie, and get her out of there while still avoiding the guards.

And even while Anakin was thinking all of this, he felt Drin's hand pulling at his arm, slowing them down.

"What are you—"

"_Look_."

Drin's face bore a very strange expression. Reluctantly—but there was no time!—Anakin turned back to face the way they had come and saw what Drin did: spattered drops of blood, trailing a path in the creases and wrinkles of the stone on the floor, leading from an open cell door to turn a corner they had not yet taken. In blind haste, Anakin had almost missed it. What they saw when they turned the corner was no surprise; time, which only a second ago had been frantically rushing, now seemed to go very still.

Master Allie had always been beautiful. Serenity in the Force could do that to a woman, even one with less to work with than Stass Allie. But now her lovely, dark face was covered with dirt and filth as she lay awkwardly on the ground, her features disfigured by an ugly expression of anger and fear and locked in that position by death. Her robes were torn, revealing a shudderingly emaciated frame, and her lightsaber was not on her belt.

The blood leaked from a deep cut on the back of her leg, and from another in her chest. A Jedi Master was dead.

The shock of the thought left Anakin numb and compliant. When the guards came around, warily raising their weapons and shouting warnings though they were less than two feet away, neither Jedi resisted. Of all the outcomes possible, they had never thought of this.

The guards led them out of the compound and back into the sunlight, so bright that Anakin squinted and turned away. When his eyes adjusted, he saw Ferus sitting in the compound's shadow, out of the sun. His lightsaber was ignited and trained on the dozen guards, who stood awkwardly by the ship and didn't seem to have any intentions of moving. When Ferus saw them, his eyes widened, but he did not stand.

"Anakin, what happened?" he demanded, pushing himself up on his arms. Two dark-garbed guards stepped forward and grabbed him, forcing him roughly to his feet, and then Anakin saw why he had not risen at their exit. Ferus's left boot was a mess of leather and blood—Anakin cringed at the sight. The guards brought him to stand closer to the other Jedi, and Ferus repeated his desperate question, "What's going on?"

"You lot!" shouted one of the guards that had just exited the compound to the group that was only recently freed. "Come help watch these three. Can't trust these Jedi."

In a tentative voice, one of the former hostages stepped forward to explain why not a one of his group had functioning weapons.

"She's dead," Anakin said, his voice low and dark. His face turned away, and Ferus understood that they had failed.


	43. An Inelegant Response

They were held for a day, perhaps more, on Grievous's flagship, _Star Protector_. That was no more than any of the Jedi had expected. What happened after that, though, was less certain. Perhaps they would be taken to the compound they had just escaped and held there until some other reckless band of Jedi attempted to rescue them, and the whole terrible cycle would repeat itself.

They were not allowed to see each other. As soon as they reached the ship, Anakin was muscled away from the other two by three of Grievous's guards and placed in a cell of his own. He didn't resist—there was nothing to be gained from it, and their failure, with all its dangerous and dismal implications, haunted him relentlessly.

Sitting on the floor of his cell, Anakin's shoulders were hunched against the guilt that pressed down upon them. He could imagine, though he tried not to, the frantic and furious messages being passed from the Alliance to the Order to the Senate and back, all demanding to know what these three renegade Jedi had been doing. When the Order could not answer, hopefully the Republic would believe it, and would turn to Anakin instead for answers.

This had been his mission; he was responsible, not only for this debacle but also for the safety of his fellow Jedi. Vaguely Anakin remembered the look of pain on Ferus's face and hoped that his foot had been tended to. And Drin, poor Drin. This was his first mission as a Knight. If they were here now, Anakin would not have apologized—would not have spoken at all. The remorse he felt was too great for words.

It was at least twenty-four standard hours later—food had not been provided, but Jedi could go for much longer without sustenance than normal beings—that the door of his cell slid open. Anakin looked up wordlessly to see one of those familiar guards standing there, burly and middle-aged and obviously unafraid of what this one young man could conceivably do to him.

"On your feet, Jedi," he said. Anakin hesitated, waiting for more of an explanation, and when there was none he rose as ordered. The guard prodded him forward through the halls until the walls opened up into a common area, where Drin and Ferus stood. At the sight of them, Anakin's stomach—already working gymnastics—twisted itself into tinier, more painful knots.

"Where were—?"

"Silence, Jedi," Anakin's guard snapped. This was just getting ridiculous now, but Anakin held his tongue anyway. The Jedi were escorted to another ship, smaller and more practical for fast transportation. Their own was apparently no longer available. The guard holding Anakin's arm gave a few quick instructions.

"This ship is programmed to land at the Jedi Temple on Coruscant. It's locked on autopilot, so don't try to change its destination."

Of all times, Anakin felt a sudden overpowering desire to talk back, a childish impulse he'd managed to bury for the most part. He forced back the urge and only nodded his head. A true Jedi Knight, he reminded himself, did not mock his captor, even under such tempting circumstances.

The guards finally left them, locking the portal. They heard the engines firing up, the floors rumbling beneath their feet, and then they were alone together for the first time since what they all referred to in their minds as "the disaster on Morav."

Gradually the Jedi each drifted off by themselves. Drin strayed into the rest of the ship, while Ferus went to look at their food supplies in the galley. Anakin remained in the common room, his back sinking into the chair as he stared at the floor. With two hands he reached behind his neck and unclasped the gold chain that hung there, letting the strangely-cut ilum crystal fall into his hand. He turned it over his fingers for lack of thought.

He didn't see Ferus enter into the room, but he felt his friend's presence come toward him and sit down beside him.

"How's your foot?"

"Better," Ferus answered. Anakin looked down. The boot had a giant blaster hole in it now, and through it he could see peeling red skin. "It's much better. That fighter hardly got me, anyway, and Drin fixed it pretty well."

"I'm glad."

Silence.

Ferus made a noise in the back of his throat. "Come on, Anakin," he said abruptly. "Enough with the guilt trip."

"I'm don't feel guilty," Anakin answered automatically, his voice hollow.

"Yeah, because you don't beat yourself up every chance you get," Ferus returned sarcastically. "I don't know why you're so determined to believe everything is your fault, but you've got to stop. It's not _healthy_."

Anakin only shrugged. He wanted to answer his friend but didn't know how. What could he say? 'It was my fault and you know it. Don't try and make me feel better.' How pathetic that it felt like the truth. But that was the way the mind of Anakin Skywalker worked: no matter what he did or how magnificently he erred, he could reconcile himself with it only through penance, through shame and suffering, and purging.

It hadn't always been that way. Once—it seemed eons ago—there had been a man who only needed to say, "I forgive you," and Anakin's soul was at peace. But that man was gone, with only this little shard left of him, and the crystal could not abate Anakin's guilt. There was no rest for him now.

* * *

None of them were looking forward to the landing, so it came very quickly. As soon as the engines died and the ship was firmly settled on the smooth metal of the hangar floor, the ship's portal opened and Anakin, Drin, and Ferus had no choice but to step out. They knew exactly what they had to look forward to.

"Explain to the Council," said Yoda, in as cool a manner as a three-foot-high green troll with inverted speech could muster, "your behavior in this matter."

It had been a while since Anakin had done something worthy of every Council member's negative attention, though he'd had his share of moments. He had hated them then, for obvious reasons, and he didn't like them any better now.

"We went to meet with General Grievous as ordered," Anakin began. "The General threatened to keep Master Allie a prisoner permanently, refusing to release her. He also spoke of war, saying that if the Jedi demanded her release, Chancellor Amidala would take the Alliance's side."

"And you believe this excuses your actions?" demanded Master Mundi.

"No—no, Master. But—"

As clearly as he could, Anakin tried to explain the events that had taken place up until this moment, taking care to mention the inexorable pull the Force had exercised on their minds that night. When he had finished—not once had the Council members interrupted him—Master Gallia's eyes flicked behind Anakin to his friends. Though Anakin knew the death of her cousin must have hit her hard, she did not show it.

"Master Olin," she said, "Did you sense this calling in the Force that Master Skywalker describes?" Ferus nodded. "Master Audris?"

"I did, Master."

Throughout the whole process Windu had not said a word, only looked at his former Padawan with eyes that were inscrutable. Anakin wished he would speak, say _something_, even if it were only condemnation. The more time he had spent with Windu, the easier it was for him to read the Jedi Master's expression, but he sensed nothing now.

"Discuss this, the Council will," Yoda promised. "In the meantime, wishes to see you, the Chancellor does."

Inwardly, Anakin groaned. It was all they could expect, he supposed—to be shipped from one scolding to the next.

* * *

The Council had reacted as one might have expected them to—with Jedi calm, irate but reserved nonetheless. Chancellor Amidala, well-known for her passion when it came to the Republic, was somewhat less taciturn.

For whatever reason, she had chosen to see them not wearing her state robes, but rather a plainer gown of pale blue, and her dark hair was not done up in its usual elaborate hairstyle but hanging down over her shoulders. When the Jedi entered her official chambers Amidala was standing off to one side of the general area, waiting. She noticed them then, and her nostrils flared. She began without waiting for them to speak.

"Do you know what you have done?" she asked, her voice icy, every syllable pronounced perfectly, as though it were made of sharp glass. Anakin, surprised at her abruptness, did not answer. "If Grievous chose, he could declare war on the Jedi in an instant with the grounds your Order has given him. Stass Allie was bad enough, but you—!"

"On the Jedi?" Anakin repeated, startled, interrupting her without thinking.

"Only the Jedi have done this to him," Amidala snapped. "The Republic is in no way to blame."

"The Jedi Order is a child of the Republic," Ferus pointed out.

"Then I disown it!" Fervent pink spots appeared on her alabaster cheeks. "I will not allow you to drag the Republic to its grave with your reckless antics!"

All at once Anakin felt so tired. He did not have the energy to defend himself any longer. He fell silent, and Chancellor Amidala hardly seemed to notice, as Ferus and Drin took up his slack. Ferus was better at this sort of thing, anyway.

"I would suggest that you refrain from speaking so impulsively," Ferus said. "The Jedi have been faithful servants of the Republic for thousands of years. If I may say so, it would be most injudicious of you to cast the Order aside for the sake of one isolated incident."

Drin broke in suddenly. "Chancellor, Jedi are taught from a young age not to let their emotions cloud their judgment. It is a valuable precept, even for civilians."

"Then you believe that I am simply being impulsive?" asked Amidala coldly.

"I am not questioning your reasoning," Drin said, inclining his head respectfully. "I am only suggesting that you take care that it is sound before acting upon it." In the back of his mind Anakin wondered when Drin had gotten so good at this.

A Jedi, by the very nature of their profession, bound by logic and calculation and the greatest good, could make any hotheaded civilian look like a fool if they so chose. That probably was not what Ferus and Drin had in mind, but it was their end result. No matter how Amidala raged, she could not break down their wall of detached calm for which Jedi were so famous. When Palpatine was recognized as a Sith and his motives understood to be detrimental to the Republic, all of the Supreme Chancellor's emergency powers had been revoked. Amidala had no authority to punish the Jedi, now that the Order was once again an entity unto itself. At the end of their meeting, she could only leave them with a promise: that, if Grievous asked for a scapegoat, she would place the blame fully on the Jedi's shoulders.

"Well, that went well," Drin remarked dryly as they left the building for their waiting transport. Ferus was frowning at Anakin.

"Why didn't you say anything?" he asked. Anakin only shrugged. "On the wrong side of the Supreme Chancellor is not a good place to be. She's already antagonistic toward you, but you might have redeemed yourself if you'd tried."

Anakin gave a little laugh. "After I killed Palpatine, the only way she could ever stand me is if we were in another universe. She'll never forgive me, and I don't care."

Their dialogue was lighthearted, but Anakin's thoughts were only half with it. The rest of his mind was occupied with something much more sobering, something he had pondered for many days now.

They had no reason to return to the Council Chamber; none of them had a desire to get yelled at yet again. Anakin, however, for reasons of his own, made his way back there alone.

He had hoped that, for some inexplicable and convenient reason, Windu might be alone there. But no, Windu was still conversing busily with the other eleven—ten—Masters. Tentatively, Anakin interrupted.

"Master—" Windu looked up. "—May I speak with you alone?"

"Of course," Windu replied, standing. The doors of the Council room closed behind them, and the dark-skinned Master frowned. "Now, what is this about?"

Strange, how Anakin had been vaguely rehearsing this ever since Morav, and now that the moment had come, his mind had gone blank. Maybe it was a sign. Perhaps he needn't go through with it after all; and once those words were spoken out loud, no power in the universe could take them back.

"Anakin?"

"It was my fault!" he blurted out abruptly. Plans and rehearsals flew from his head, but he tried to sound as though his heart wasn't pounding furiously. "I feel responsible for what happened on Morav. It was my mission; I should have…done something. I should have known."

Windu was giving him that strange look again, the one he'd given Anakin in the Council room, one of the few that Anakin did not understand. "And what do you say happened on Morav?" Windu asked finally. "Tell me."

Anakin blinked, bewildered, but knew better than to question. "The Force was warning us of danger toward Master Allie," he said, "and we behaved carelessly in attempting to rescue her. We exposed ourselves and her and the Republic to extreme danger, and we…killed her, in doing so."

It had been at least a standard week since that day. The words and facts shouldn't hurt so badly as they did, but still they ached, like a sore that never seemed to heal, raw and swollen.

"Why are you telling me this?"

"Because Chancellor Amidala despises me. She has ever since Palpatine's death, and you know it. She's angry with the Jedi, but she will take any chance she can get to blame me personally. It would have been my decision as the leader to change what happened, and I didn't do it. If Amidala has no vendetta against me, then maybe the Order will be safe from her and Grievous."

"What are you saying?" asked Windu, very seriously.

Anakin waited a moment, to square his shoulders and collect himself. He wanted to hear the words come out of his mouth and know that they were his, know that he had made this decision on his own and was ready to accept the consequences.

"I am offering you my willing expulsion from the Jedi Order," he said.

For once, Windu seemed caught off guard. It was only the slightest reaction, but Anakin knew he had not seen this coming. Somehow that made him feel a little bit better about it.

Windu sighed, very quietly. "I must admit, Anakin," he said, "you've surprised me. That was not what I expected to hear from you."

Anakin did not respond. He did not want to go, but he was not such a coward as to hope that Windu would beg him to stay.

"You must expect that I will ask you to remain."

"The decision lies in your hands, and with the Council," Anakin replied. He knew that Windu would not demean his offer by responding in the negative without thought.

Windu shook his head slightly, never taking his eyes from Anakin. "The Council does not need to hear this," he said. "In light of the incident on Morav, they have already decided what is to become of you."

"And?" Anakin's voice was supremely calm.

"The thought of expulsion came up—it always does. It was immediately dismissed. We will not lose you, Anakin. You are the Chosen One, and you are a great and powerful Jedi Knight. The Order can and will defend itself, if necessary, against Chancellor Amidala on your behalf. But the Council is of the firm belief that there was nothing you could have done. You listened to the Force, that much is obvious—and given the situation, there is a very real possibility that Master Allie would be killed no matter what you had done."

Anakin tried so hard not to let the outward signs of relief appear on his face. He failed miserably.

"Thank you, Master," he heard himself say, his heart pounding. He had almost gone faint. Leaving the Order would have been the hardest thing he had ever done.

"However, Anakin—" For the first time, Windu seemed at a loss for words. "Given that you were indeed the leader of this mission, and your past record, the Council has made special provisions for you."

Anakin nodded soberly. "I understand," he said. He had never expected to walk away from this unscathed.

"There is an empty seat on the Council," said Windu. "We ask you to take it."

It was now Anakin's turn to be surprised. His eyes widened, and he started stammering horribly. "Master, I can't—I can't be a Master! Master, I've only been a Knight for five—" He stopped and recalculated. "—six years! No Council member has _ever_—"

"A most inelegant response," said Windu, smiling. "But the offer stands nonetheless. So will you take it?"

Anakin stared at him blankly. Now that he was fully convinced that Windu was being serious, there was nothing else he could do. "Yes," he said. "Of course."

"I am very glad to hear it." Business was concluded; Windu turned on his heel and walked back into the Council Chamber, but not before Anakin saw once more that _look_ on his face. This time, though, suddenly Anakin saw what it meant.

It was pure, shining pride that Windu felt now toward his former apprentice.


	44. Larger Than Planets

It was Anakin's first Council meeting as a member; the first time he had ever sat instead of stood during one of them. He wasn't nervous.

Not really.

Maybe a little. Who wouldn't be, sitting on an equal level with the most esteemed Jedi Masters of the universe?—and now that he was with them, he, Anakin, was considered one of them. He tried it out on his tongue: Jedi Master Anakin Skywalker, the Chosen One of the Force.

All right, really nervous.

To his great relief, none of the Masters gave any recognition that he was utterly new to this other than a few brief, encouraging smiles. They greeted each other, sat down—Anakin in Master Allie's old chair, oh how very awkward that felt—and plunged immediately into business.

There was no chairman, official or otherwise. Each Master had their own general areas of authority, and if they had something that needed discussion they would bring it up. Master Koth was the first to speak.

"I met today," he said, "with a husband and wife who brought their two-year-old daughter to be trained here as an apprentice. From what they have told me, and from what I have gathered on my own, the girl appears to have great potential—the kind that we fear to lose."

There were nods of understanding around the room, and Master Gallia asked, "So what is the problem?"

"Her parents have agreed to let her be trained and to disown her from her birthright. But they insist on being able to visit her. They say that it would only be while she is young, but that is a difficult sort of habit to break, for both the parents and the child."

"I agree," said Master Mundi. "We have seen before the dangers that present when Jedi know their birth parents. There is a reason we forbid attachment."

"Also, it would be seen as an unforgivable display of favoritism," added Master Gallia. "One child in a thousand cannot be allowed the privilege of seeing her parents on a regular basis."

Master Koth nodded. "I had already come to the same conclusion myself," he said. "But still I do not want to lose this girl."

They discussed possible solutions for a few more minutes, then returned to the other business at hand. Anakin, for his part, was content to listen rather than contribute. He should have known, though, that Windu would not allow this. When the meeting seemed to be winding down, Anakin's former Master spoke.

"We've already discussed the mission to Morav quite enough, I think," he said. "Nothing more needs to be said until Grievous responds to Chancellor Amidala's message. However, there is still one question I have, whether or not to allow the Knights involved to continue going on missions as usual during this time. Anakin, as you are a Master this no longer applies to you, but you are the most directly involved of all of us, so this decision should be yours."

Anakin was suddenly very conscious of every gaze in the room resting gently upon him. He hesitated a moment before speaking.

"As punishment, no," he said. "They did nothing wrong. But Chancellor Amidala will want all three of us here when General Grievous responds, and I don't feel it would be wise to antagonize her further. So maybe they should be suspended from missions until the General has replied."

Windu nodded. "That sounds fair," he decided. "And unless anyone else has something they'd like to bring up, I think we're done for now."

They adjourned, and Anakin felt pleased with himself; he hadn't flubbed up his first Council meeting.

* * *

That night brought feelings of a different sort, and something that Anakin had not experienced in several years. 

It was pitch black in his room when Anakin awakened with a start. He was panting for breath. His legs were twisted in his sheets, which were damp and hot with sweat. They were unbearably uncomfortable; Anakin threw them off as quickly as he could and rose on shaking legs.

It wasn't a flower.

He stumbled toward the refresher, gasping from the heat that he felt. When Anakin flicked on the light, he stood there for a moment, immobilized by the sudden brightness on his dull eyes, then groped for the sink and turned on the water. It was cold and wonderful. He splashed it onto his face and neck, feeling as though he would collapse and die if he waited a second longer.

Only then, when the heat had been sated, did Anakin find within himself the strength to regain control, to turn off the water and lean back against the wall and come to terms with what he had just seen. All these things he could do—but his heart still beat so quickly that it almost hurt him.

It wasn't a flower, and those bright orange and red waves bursting out from the center were not petals. He didn't know why now, of all times that he had had this dream, he saw the object of his thoughts for what it truly was. Each time he dreamt it, it came a little more into focus, and now a tiny but critical point had been touched, and everything was painfully obvious.

Not verdant colors of life in a flower, but tongues of flame, larger than planets, reaching out to consume all in their path.

Anakin ran a hand through thick and tangled hair, struggling for breath. If he had had this vivid a dream before Obi-Wan's death, he would have been trembling furiously. Now he was still, but his thoughts remained haunted and fearful.

_A Jedi shall_ _not know fear. A Jedi shall not know fear._

"…not know…" muttered Anakin blearily, his lips unused to forming sounds after sleep. He returned to his sleep couch, but it was a long time before he fell back into unconsciousness. When he did, the thoughts in his mind were not peaceful.

* * *

It was exactly a standard week later that they heard Grievous's reply. 

"He's pressing no charges," said Windu shortly. "He's made no complaints, he wants no investigation. He's ready to drop our involvement in the matter entirely."

This announcement was met with universal confusion by the members of the Council.

"This makes no sense," said Anakin slowly, bewildered. "When we spoke with him onboard the _Star Protector_, he was…furious. He practically insisted that we prove to him that the Jedi weren't behind the attack or else prepare for war; I would have sworn that he would hound the issue for months."

"What was Chancellor Amidala's response?" asked Master Gallia.

"Relief, I'm sure," said Windu. "What else? Well, and this…" He fumbled in his robes for a moment and pulled out a little scroll of flimsy. "She was in a Senate meeting when I went to see her about it. Her aide told me the news, and gave me this. Essentially, it asks that one of the Masters come to see her later today, so she can tell us more fully what's happened."

"Who are we—?" Anakin began, just as Windu said, "You should probably go, Anakin."

There was a pause.

"I…don't know if that would be the best course of action," Anakin said tentatively. "I think the less of me she sees, the better."

"If Chancellor Amidala chooses to hold a personal grudge against you, that is her business," said Master Windu. "But it should not appear that you are responding in kind by avoiding her."

Anakin wasn't certain how it happened, since his plan had been to solidly resist going anywhere near the Chancellor until she had forgiven him, but somehow Windu prevailed and Anakin found himself making his way, once again, to the Senate building.

Amidala's expression flickered when she saw him, but long years of practice in politics kept it calm.

"Master Skywalker," she said, without a trace of animosity. "I'm sure you've heard General Grievous's response."

"I have," Anakin replied. "I don't think it was the answer that any of us expected."

"Yes, it certainly was a surprise," said Amidala, "especially considering the injuries Grievous had to consider."

It occurred to Anakin suddenly to wonder whether the Chancellor was actually disappointed that she couldn't bring the wrath of the Alliance down upon him. She was too young for this, Anakin decided in an instant. This was not the behavior of an experienced diplomat, but of a child.

"There were, however, certain stipulations that the General included that I thought best to speak to one of the Council in private about," Amidala continued. "They are of a somewhat sensitive nature."

"Really? What are they?"

"Grievous was as distressed as the Council to hear of Master Allie's death. He has ordered a full investigation into the matter on Morav; but this is an Alliance matter, since you were in Alliance territory at the time, and he has requested specifically—and vehemently—that the Jedi not intrude on his jurisdiction in this case."

It took a moment for Anakin to translate this from politician-speak into normal Basic..

"Chancellor," he said, frowning and disbelieving, "Are you asking that the Jedi not take part in the investigation?"

"Those were Grievous's wishes," she answered blithely. Anakin's heart began to pound faster with the injustice of it.

"Chancellor, you _cannot_ expect us to sit by doing nothing after a dear friend and an esteemed member of the Order has been brutally murdered!"

"The matter will be looked into. Grievous—"

"—has no personal stake in the case. We have!"

"I thought the Jedi believed in not being personally connected in any way to their missions."

"When one Jedi is involved, yes, but not when the matter deeply affects every person in the Order—"

Amidala cut him off. "Master Skywalker, I will hear no more of this," she said firmly. "General Grievous is offering to instigate the entire investigation out of his own pocket and with his own time. He will report all his findings to you and defer to your judgment—but the Alliance will oversee this, and not the Jedi."

Anakin was so furious with her that all logical functions in his brain broke down. Something else might have been more appropriate, but what came out of Anakin's mouth was a heated, "This isn't fair!"

"It is perfectly fair," said Amidala acidly. "And I warn you, Master Skywalker, that Grievous takes this seriously. The Jedi have no jurisdiction over Alliance territory. To investigate without his consent would be a grave insult." Their eyes locked, a battle of dark brown against blue. "If the Jedi are found anywhere near the Perlemian Cluster without specific permission from General Grievous I will be severely displeased. I want your word, as a Jedi and a member of the Council, that no one from the Order—not you, not any Jedi—will investigate on their own. I know you have the authority to give me your promise and keep it."

Anakin took a breath, still glaring hotly at her, but was ultimately helpless. "You have my word," he said finally, "that General Grievous will not find the Jedi near his investigation."

Amidala, having extracted her promise, was satisfied. Anakin was seething, but didn't show it.

* * *

"I know," Anakin admitted, "that I've been suspicious of Grievous in the past without specific cause. But this is just too much!" 

"It does seem strange," Windu agreed, "especially when Grievous hasn't been at all shy about asking for Jedi assistance in the past."

"He could be hiding something," Ki-Adi-Mundi conceded, "but we must not jump to conclusions."

"It's not jumping to a conclusion if you have something to walk on to get to it." Anakin pointed out.

"You really believe that this is something serious, don't you?" said Windu, looking at Anakin, who nodded.

"Very much so. I don't trust him; I can't make myself do it. Something doesn't make sense to me."

"In any case, though I hate to say it," said Kit Fisto, "there is nothing we can do for the time being. We cannot send anyone to investigate the Perlemian Cluster, not when you told Amidala that you would not."

Anakin coughed. "Em…about that," he said, rubbing a hand over his face. "I never actually promised her we wouldn't investigate. I told her that Grievous wouldn't find us. So, if—hypothetically speaking, you know—we _did_ do anything near there, we would just have to make certain that neither the Chancellor nor the General knew about it."

He looked up, to see eleven Jedi Masters with their eyes upon him, varying expressions upon their faces. Windu looked almost intrigued—Yoda was, as always, inscrutable—Master Gallia appeared very stern.

Anakin swallowed. If he hadn't thought this was so important, he would have retracted the unspoken idea right then and there.

"I don't like the idea of acting on technicalities," Windu said slowly, "but…"

"If Grievous is doing nothing wrong, as he very well might be," broke in Master Mundi, "and he finds out about this, there will be hell to pay."

"But look, see," Anakin said, leaning forward. "First he presses no charges, effectively getting rid of any reason for the Jedi to get near Morav again, and then as if that's enough, he specifically creates a reason for us to stay away from it. And, not only that, but the Cluster was _already_ restricted before we even got there!"

"What do you mean by this?" asked Yoda.

"He's avoiding us, purposefully keeping the Jedi at arm's length. And the Jedi are defined as serving and protecting the Light. If Grievous is keeping us away, then it only makes sense that he's doing it because he's involved in something that the Jedi would not be happy with, so it must be something bad," Anakin finished triumphantly.

"What do you propose, then?"

Anakin hesitated. "Nothing more than surveillance," he decided. "Not until further notice."

After only a bit more discussion, it was put to a vote. Three were against—Master Gallia one of them—and an overwhelming nine were for the idea. It only proved, Anakin thought, that behind its stolid mask, the Council was truly ill at ease.

There would be two watch points, close but not dangerously so to the Perlemian Cluster. Each of these would be manned by anywhere from three to five Jedi at any given time, each of whom would be stationed for only about a month before returning to the Temple for regular duty and being replaced.

One of the stations would be on Dagobah, the other on Tatooine. They were ideal vantage points; the only problem with them, Anakin thought, was that both were such wastes of galactic space that it was difficult to come up with any reason for so many Jedi to be there constantly.

Dagobah, it was decided, was the hiding place of a recently-invented and extremely dangerous criminal named Garas Olan (Ferus had been standing nearby when Anakin came up with the name). Meanwhile, there had been so many recent outbreaks of Sand People attacks upon the populace of Tatooine that the Jedi were sent there for safety reasons.

Anakin was in charge of getting the Tatooine station up and running. This task involved finding adequate long-term quarters, finding willing Jedi, setting up a rotation, ensuring that Grievous was not suspicious, keeping close tabs on what went on near the area—to name a few.

An onlooker might have called it a nightmare. Anakin would have disagreed, for two reasons. The first was that he thrived under pressure, even while already eager to impress the Council. He was looking forward to the chance to prove himself to them, and to know finally what Grievous was up to. The second reason would be more serious.

This was not a nightmare, Anakin would say, his eyes dark with sleeplessness. For Anakin Skywalker knew the true definition of a nightmare: a thought more horrible than anything your waking mind could conceive, hiding during the daylight and preying upon your helpless mind when you sleep, like a vicious lion on a slumbering lamb.

At the time when Anakin suggested this proposal to the Council, he had not slept in three days, afraid of what he would see when he closed his eyes.

The flames were growing bigger.


	45. Waiting and Watching

It was hotter on Tatooine than Anakin remembered. He hadn't been to his homeplanet in several years, and the heat when he stepped off the ship took his breath away. But getting used to Tatooine weather was like riding a speeder-bike: once you were accustomed to it, it was never very difficult to reacclimatize yourself once again.

The Jedi he'd chosen to accompany him to Tatooine were not so lucky, most of them having lived the majority of their lives on a planet where every place you could conceivably go was temperature-controlled. Breaking with what was perhaps an unhealthy habit, Anakin had decided not to take any of his friends with him to Tatooine, not Ferus or Drin. He had chosen instead several Knights with whom he was not closely acquainted, but whom he had watched and considered trustworthy.

They found a place, ideally situated near one of the few main spaceports on the planet. Such a motley assortment of sentients could hardly be found anywhere else in the galaxy, and so all sorts of news came through it, a fair deal of it relating to Grievous when there was cause. Of the sort of news that Anakin had hoped for, though—really incriminating stuff, or at least a lead of some sort—there was nothing.

Not until they had been on Tatooine for three months, attending to the needs of the nearby populace and listening with half an ear to the spaceport's gossip, did anything vaguely interesting come up.

Anakin was outside their quarters—a squat set of apartment buildings on the edge of Mos Eisley—thinking, or rather trying not to think. That, after all, was the point of meditation. He breathed in deeply, filling his lungs with scorching Tatooine air, and tried to feel the rough mud wall against his back and the sand beneath him where he sat. Tatooine was a good place for meditation, if you could stand the heat. All Anakin could think about, though, was that same tired dream.

His meditation time was slightly less serene than it ought to have been. Each time he closed his eyes, the warmth of the sand became in his mind the searing heat of the flames, and the wind in his ears became some innocent's death cry. If it were not so vague, then at least perhaps it wouldn't be so tormenting, but all Anakin knew was that it—whatever "it" was—hadn't happened yet, for the vision continued to return.

This wasn't helping. Anakin sighed, and stood, stretching his back and shoulders after sitting for so long. That was when another Jedi rounded the corner.

"I'm sorry to disturb you during your meditation, Master," said Rik, a fair-haired boy with elongated features—and indeed, he looked sorry as he bowed. That was something Anakin had yet to get used to: Knights only a few years his junior treating him with the deference accorded to wise and experienced Jedi Masters like Yoda and Windu. Anakin had not yet figured out, of course, that that was how the rest of the Order perceived him.

"I'm sorry," Rik repeated, "but we've just had a report from the station on Dagobah that we thought you should read."

Anakin nodded and followed the boy inside. There, one of the other four Knights currently on Tatooine—a woman named Shali, young as Rik and just as easily awed—handed him a transmission. Anakin read it quickly.

"Kamino?" he said, looking up when he had finished. "Are they sure?"

"Yes, Master," Rik answered.

"Why would Grievous be going there?"

Rik shrugged. "I don't know. That's all the information they had, and there's not much of it."

Anakin frowned, looking down at the flimsy in his hands. Every move Grievous made now only frustrated him further; there was some motive behind it, some method in madness, but Anakin could not see it.

"Find out what Grievous is doing there, if you can," he said out loud. "If he's making the trip himself it must be important."

"I'll look into it," Shali promised, taking the flimsy, and left the room. Rik stayed a moment, hesitant.

"Master, are you—all right?" he asked. Anakin frowned, not angry but confused.

"What makes you say that?"

"The Force feels…disturbed around you. And you look tired."

Anakin did not know how to answer. He couldn't tell Rik of the nights he lay awake, afraid to fall asleep because of what he would see when he closed his eyes. Jedi—real Jedi—did not have nightmares, in visions or otherwise, and so he had told no one.

"Maybe I've been thinking about Grievous a little too much," Anakin lied, another thing Jedi didn't do. "It's good that you said something. Anything leading to an obsession can be very dangerous."

Rik nodded and followed Shali out the low, rounded doorway, leaving the Master to himself.

There was another reason Anakin refused himself permission to tell another soul of what left him panting for breath in the night. Another person, any other person, would take it seriously and with great concern, and that would make it too real for Anakin to bear. As long as it was only in his head, he told himself, he could send it away by the force of his will, and then it could never come true. He could make it gone.

* * *

But the dream only grew more vivid, and more painful, as days went by. Anakin caught himself looking up at the stars and planets at night with eyes dark from sleeplessness and imagined them exploding into nothingness, into death. 

Through no agency other than coincidence, as Anakin's dreams in time grew stronger, more Grievous tales reached the Jedi's ears. Shali traveled to Kamino, discreetly, and found nothing. The Kaminoans were simple and pleasant, but firm, and would not tell her a thing about the General's visit.

"But they're not making more soldiers for him, I'm sure of it," Shali vowed. "I checked all their facilities myself. Nothing like the mass army we've seen in the past."

"We need to start monitoring that region to make sure that we intercept any transmissions that Grievous may send or receive in the future," Anakin said.

"That could be difficult," warned Shali hesitantly. "We've got to stay unobtrusive here, and Grievous might notice if we're receiving copies of all his transmissions."

"Find a way. If there—"

He was interrupted by a knock on the frame of the open door. "What's on Naboo?" asked Rik.

Anakin blinked, his train of thought spiraling out into the distance. "I, uh—what?"

"On Naboo," Rik repeated. "Is there anything of importance to Grievous there?"

"Um—no, I don't think so," Anakin said. "Why? Has he been there?"

Rik's fine features twisted in an ungainly grimace. "The opposite, actually. You know those Banking Federation officials that were stationed on Naboo, in Theed?"

"Yes."

"Well, they've left. Supposedly they had word from Grievous himself that they were to get off the planet and back to him as soon as possible."

"Did they give a reason?"

"No. Nothing. I heard it from this old spice pirate in the cantina just now. He didn't have any answers."

"Maybe he intends to use them for something on Kamino," Shali suggested doubtfully.

"Or maybe he just wants to relocate them." Anakin frowned. "He's moved his people from system to system countless times; it could have nothing to do with Kamino. Set up the transmissions monitor, and get another one stationed to cover Naboo."

"Kamino is out of our range," Rik interjected.

"Then tell Dagobah to monitor them!"

The commlink at Anakin's belt buzzed. He lifted it and heard a static-broken voice say, "Master Skywalker, there's been a—"

The commlink went dead with a crackling hiss.

Rik and Shali were silent. Anakin stood motionless for a moment, then lowered the device to his belt again."

"Rik, I want you to see what's happening on Dagobah." He met the younger Knight's eyes. "Find out what they're doing—and while you're gone, set up a communications interceptor on Kamino."

"Should I take the transport?" Rik asked.

"You'll need the equipment," Anakin agreed. It took Rik only a few minutes to gather his things and leave, prepared to be gone for a week at the most. He returned in an hour.

"There's a problem with the ship!" he reported, panicked.

"It hasn't been stolen," Anakin guessed fearfully, knowing Tatooine well.

"No, the cockpit was locked. But they managed to get inside, and they stole all the equipment we had stored in there. There's nothing I can do on Kamino now," he said regretfully.

A sigh escaped Anakin's mouth through clenched teeth. Frustration seethed through him like a virus. Being a Master was all well and good, but this—waiting and watching, hiding, observing—was not what he had been made for. He needed action and adventure to make his life meaningful, not tedious routine made only vaguely exciting when something went wrong.

It was a moment before he could collect himself. When he did, he noticed that the eyes of every Knight in the room were warily on him, waiting to see what he would do. It was so hard to remember that he could never let himself go now, that there would always be someone watching him, looking to him for answers from a mask of calm that could never, never slip and never err.

"Take the ship anyway," Anakin said finally to Rik. "Forget about Kamino for now. Take it to Dagobah and find out what went wrong there. Then…just come back."

Rik bowed. "Yes, Master," he answered. There was relief in his attitude; there was always security in having someone else come up with solutions to the problems that arose.

But Anakin was discovering just how difficult it was to be the end-all of answers. When Rik returned a few days later—Dagobah, he reported, had suffered a storm powerful enough to damage its communications system, and would be _incommunicado_ until things were fixed—the burden pressing down upon Anakin's shoulders had become too great to bear.

Through the mass of flame and sorrow, he now heard a laugh, a harsh, cold laugh that sounded more bestial than sentient. Anakin had thought that there was no one to whom he could turn, but that was not true. The vision was growing sharper and more vivid with each passing night, and he could no longer shield himself with pitiful denial. The Council had to know about this.

* * *

**Author's Note: By the way, I know that this chapter was not worth waiting a month for. There were reasons I didn't update, all of which I don't plan to elaborate upon. I promise the next chapter will make up for it.**


	46. May The Force Have Mercy On Us

A night passed, in which Anakin struggled to remain where he was, not wishing to wake the Council at such an hour. He felt almost guilty for taking advantage of this excuse, however. He knew, deep down, that for something of this importance, the Council would want to know as soon as he was certain. But he waited, for his own selfish sake.

When morning came, he stalled. There were messages to be sent, missions to attend, instructions to give, but by midday there was nothing left for Anakin to do…and he was sick of his own petulance. There was a quick debate in his mind over whether he should speak to the Council personally or through a hologram. The latter won out; it was easier.

"Anakin!" Windu greeted him with something that almost sounded like pleasure. "It's been a long time since we heard from you."

Anakin bit back a grin. "I have been busy," he admitted. His image was now being projected into the Council Chamber; Anakin himself saw his fellow members as miniature human beings seated on the table before him.

"Does this contact mean that you have news of importance?" asked Adi Gallia pointedly, who—Anakin remembered suddenly—had never been in favor of this surveillance mission. He wished he could reply fully in the affirmative, to assuage her fears.

"We have heard some things," Anakin told them. He listed the communications on Dagobah, the visit to Kamino, the abrupt departure of Grievous's officials from Naboo. "But nothing of great significance."

"Yet I sense you have something more you wish to say," said Windu, not unkindly. Anakin felt rather grateful toward his old Master in that moment, but his nerves were still on edge, and there was a faint, unpleasant buzzing in his ears.

"I do," he replied, and breathed deeply. "For the past…I can't even say…at least a year now, my sleep has been troubled by dreams. I thought, for a while, that they might be merely products of my imagination, but now I believe them to be visions of the Force."

Every one of them looked taken by surprise.

"Shouldn't you have mentioned this before?" asked Ki Adi Mundi.

"Anakin, why didn't you tell me?" Windu leaned forward, concern on his face. Anakin looked down, feeling shamed. He shook his head unconsciously, trying to rid himself of the vague headache he felt approaching.

"I…feared my vision," he confessed. "I hoped that, by keeping it secret, I could also keep it from taking place."

"You see, he is too young!" The sudden, impassioned outburst came from Adi Gallia, and Anakin looked up, startled. She was sitting forward in her chair, her fingers gripping the metal until they turned white. "He is a gifted Knight, the finest our Order will know, but he does not have the wisdom—"

"Peace, Master Gallia," reminded Yoda. She sat back and nodded in Anakin's direction.

"Forgive me, Master Skywalker," Adi Gallia said. Her great, dark eyes turned to him. "You have proven yourself a worthy and noble Knight of the Order; but I have feared for some time that your lack of experience may make you, as of yet, unprepared for the work of a Master."

Anakin still appeared shocked, but managed to swallow his emotions to accept the apology. He did not betray that he, too, sometimes still had these doubts.

"Let us move on," said Master Mundi gently. "Anakin, perhaps you should describe your vision."

This required another deep breath. His headache was growing steadily worse, and it took a moment for Anakin to retrieve the required memory. "It is the same, every time," he told them, "but it grows clearer every night.

"I see a single planet—I don't know its name." In his mind's eye Anakin could see that same planet, hovering in the darkness, surrounded by stars and its moons. It looked…peaceful. "Without warning, there's…the planet itself…well, it just explodes. Huge clouds of flame shoot out in every direction, and then I hear…"

Anakin blinked slowly. The darkness at the corner of his Force-vision was growing to expand all of his sight, until he could see nothing but that. Dimly he heard the Council's voices again, worried and urgent as they called out to him, but more clearly he heard that loud, almost motorized humming behind his ears, from something enormous and strong. For the first time the picture grew clear enough for him to recognize which planet it was that he'd seen so many times before.

Here, now he would see it again, see the planet burst into ash and then to nothing. But instead, the vision changed, taking him entirely by surprise. He felt something like a cloth wrap around his head, and he could see no longer, not the Council nor the planet. Then the cloth was pulled away, and Anakin felt himself moving, with feet that were not his own, down a hallway in which he had never been.

Everything was moving with dizzying speed. Anakin felt as though his head were spinning, and he barely heard a voice ask, "Is everything prepared?" Only when he heard the affirmative reply from some other source did Anakin realize that the first words had come from himself, not in his own voice but some strange, metallic timbre.

Hands that were not his stretched over a control board made of cold steel, pushing buttons with a foreknowledge that Anakin did not have. He looked up, to see that same planet, but from a different perspective this time, through a viewscreen that made the massive globe seem very small. He felt a smile, tight and painful, stretch briefly across his face behind the mask.

"All is well," he whispered to himself, his voice hoarse and harsh. "All is very well, though I have waited a very long time for this. And they trusted so easily…"

There was a gray button on the board below him, flashing silently. The long, shining fingers of Anakin's left hand moved forward, tapped idly against the steel beside that button. Little bursts of faint light glinted every few seconds off the droid hand.

"The fools," he murmured. Then he threw back his head and laughed, cold, painful, wild laughter rolled up from his throat, so abruptly loud that he heard them all jump behind him. "The _FOOLS_!"

His hand came down with all force on the gray button. For an instant, nothing happened. Then the floor beneath them began to tremble, and the lights flickered. The gray button had stopped flashing.

Green light, gathered in enormous quantities, spilled into space, concentrated in a single powerful beam that rushed at incalculable speed toward the poor, doomed world. In the millisecond between when Anakin saw that light and when the planet exploded, he heard the screams. A million voices cried out in his head, in pain and in fear, and they were so loud that Anakin wanted nothing more than to clap his hands over his ears and curl up on the floor, but all he could do was stand there and laugh…and _laugh_…as what had once been the most beautiful planet in the galaxy was reduced to a few million specks of ash floating in space.

Then the vision broke, as though it were glass and had shattered. Anakin—no longer in Grievous's body, but in his own—was huddled on the floor, and his hands shut his ears and tears soaked his face.

_Force help me; Force help me…_ It was several minutes before he realized he was saying those words out loud. The screams had faded, but Anakin still remained where he was, overcome with sorrow.

Anakin moved out of instinct and not of thought when he finally pushed himself to his feet. He could feel that his face was ashen.

Footsteps sounded outside the door—Shali ran in, gasping for breath.

"Master Skywalker!" He hated her shrill, anxious voice. "I felt something in the Force—what was it?"

Didn't she know? a Jedi should not panic, should not give in to fear even when facing a monster of this magnitude. Anakin felt as though he'd had an epiphany—in time, no doubt, it would pass. But in this moment, he felt he knew everything the Council had ever wanted him to.

"There has been an attack against the Republic," Anakin said, turning to face her. Though his countenance was ghost white, in every move he made he was truly a Jedi Master. "Where's Rik?"

Shali blinked, stunned. "In—Mos Eisley," she managed.

"Find him and bring him back here." Anakin wanted Rik; he also wanted Shali gone, and the task admirably suited both his purposes.

The hologram had shut off. When she was gone, Anakin turned it back on and found the Council's signal once again. He could not stop his fingers from shaking.

The instant the hologram snapped up again, the sense of foreboding and despair within Anakin increased by a thousand times. He could sense the same feelings of every Jedi in the Temple, from the Jedi Masters who reacted most violently, to the younglings who ran to their Masters in fear, to the babies in the crèche, who burst into tears without knowing even why.

"Thank the Force," were Windu's first words when he saw Anakin. "I've never seen you react like that—I thought you'd been killed by it."

"I'm all right now," said Anakin. "You felt it, then?"

He needn't have asked. Though their faces were lined and blue through the hologram, he could see evidence of that great disturbance in the Force.

"We must know what caused it," said Adi Gallia, urgency plain in her voice. "We should send Knights to all the—"

"Wait," Anakin broke in, frowning. "What do you mean, 'what caused it'?"

They looked at him, not comprehending.

"Didn't you see? You must have seen!"

"Anakin," said Windu very seriously, "what are you talking about?"

"I saw him!" Anakin burst out. "I saw Grievous, I know it was him! He stood on the bridge of some ship and pressed a button, and then Naboo just burst! It's gone!"

"_Gone?_" Master Mundi demanded. "That's impossible!"

But Yoda shook his head. He looked, Anakin thought distantly, very tired and very old.

"For such a disturbance," he murmured, "only the loss of an entire planet, can it be. Legends, there are, of machines capable of such destruction."

"Grievous must have one of them," Anakin said. "It's the only way he could destroy an entire planet so easily."

"May the Force have mercy on us," whispered Adi Gallia, "if Grievous has such power in his hands to use against the Republic."

The Jedi Council was, for a time, without words. No solutions were offered, no plans were made. Plo Koon said all that could be said when he said, quietly, "We trusted him." Anakin knew they were haunted, as he was still, by the voices in their heads, by the remnants of innocent lives taken for revenge.

"…something must be done," said Windu at last. "Anakin, if you're certain that this was done by Grievous—"

Anakin gave a jerky nod.

"—we must act quickly. The universe will look to the Jedi for answers to this…monstrous deed." Windu's calm seemed to rally the scattered thoughts of the other Council members, and wild Force signatures abated. Anakin glanced at the chronometer; seven and a half minute since the end of a world. "Someone must go to the Supreme Chancellor and tell her what we know.

"I'm certain he has demands of some sort. The Jedi will have no choice but to negotiate with him. Anakin, you have had more dealings than perhaps any of us with Grievous in the past, so you should lead that. Master Gallia, it might also be appropriate if you—"

"No."

The word was simply spoken. Windu broke off in mid-sentence and looked at him.

"No?" he repeated.

"I can't go," Anakin said. "I can't negotiate with him."

Windu sighed. "Anakin," he said, "I understand how you feel…"

"You don't know!" Anakin said loudly, almost shouting. "Force knows how many times you made me sit across the table from him when I knew how many innocents he'd killed, but I could bear it when everyone thought he'd changed—but not now. Not after this."

Their eyes met for a moment, millions of miles away; then Windu nodded shortly. Anakin could not tell if he was displeased, but Windu made no further argument. Feeling slightly embarrassed, Anakin sat back in his chair.

"I would suggest that you come back to Coruscant as soon as possible," Windu said. "Chancellor Amidala has been on a diplomatic mission to Kalarba for the past few days; I would advise that you stop by there on your way and explain to her what has happened and what steps the Jedi are taking."

"Of course," Anakin acquiesced.

They finished quickly after that. Windu would go to Grievous as soon as a location and demands were given—which no one doubted they soon would be—along with Masters Ti, Gallia and Koth. Ka'ela Brun, Siri Tachi and Aelir Thren were also mentioned, and Master Yoda determined to ask for their assistance within the hour. The remaining Council members would remain where they were, calming the Jedi population and ensuring that no panic ensued.

Rik was waiting in the next room when Anakin stood and left. Shali was beside him, but Anakin had no time for the idle words she wanted.

"Master, what's happened?' asked Rik. His face was pale.

"There's been an attack," Anakin replied shortly. He was running through a checklist in his head: no, there was nothing he needed to bring with him back to Coruscant, other than his lightsaber. Jedi did not travel with the few personal items they kept. "Grievous has destroyed a planet and I'm going back to Coruscant. You'll probably be called there soon, so be ready."

This was a very large amount of information to take in at once, but Rik only nodded, and did not ask questions. Anakin spared a split second to think that he was glad he had chosen Rik to be in charge.

"Watch the station," were Anakin's final words. He left abruptly, his cloak flapping behind him.

* * *

Kalarba was barely an hour's time from Tatooine. 

Anakin landed in the Noble District, during Kalarba's evening hours, and had no trouble locating the Chancellor. The first person he met pointed him in the direction of the house in which she was staying: a delicate-looking place, all white stone and porticos and spirals. He climbed up the short flight of stairs and was immediately admitted by a man dressed in clothes obviously made of some rich material.

"I know why you're here, Master Jedi," the man said, a worried expression twisting his face, "and I thank you for it. We've been hearing the most terrible rumors, no way of knowing if they're true, and the Chancellor hasn't left her room in some time—"

"They are, I'm afraid," Anakin answered, "and I must speak with Her Excellency immediately."

"She seems … indisposed," the man answered hesitantly. "Perhaps it would be best to wait…"

Anakin shook his head. "It cannot wait," he said. "Please show me her room."

His boots sank into a sumptuous red carpet as he was led into the house. For whatever reason, the man seemed strangely unwilling to let Anakin see the Chancellor. But he led him to a thick wooden door, indicating that this was the place, and then left the Jedi alone.

Anakin knocked. There was no answer, no sound at all to indicate that any living being existed beyond that door, but he definitely sensed a presence within. Time was not something he could waste; he called through the door, "Chancellor Amidala? May I speak with you?"

There was a space of time in which he heard nothing. Then a very quiet voice from the other side said, "Come in."

Anakin pressed his hand to the doorpad and the door slid open at his touch, revealing a simply-furnished room, decorated in reds. A bed and a desk with a chair were the only pieces of furniture within it.

Amidala was sitting on the chair, her ornate white gown a stark contrast to the deep red of the carpet on which it dragged. Her elbows rested heavily upon the desk, and her long alabaster fingers covered her face. She made no sound; it was only when Anakin saw her shoulders heave that he realized with a start that she was crying.

Anakin had no idea of what to say. He could feel her pain as she sat there, visibly trembling with grief. Amidala turned her face to look at him, but made no attempt to compose herself. The hairstyle usually atop her head was missing; instead, her hair hung in a tangled dark mess down her back. Tears streaked their way down her face, smudging her elaborate makeup. She was the picture of a woman in agony.

"Chancellor," Anakin began, moving toward her, but without warning Amidala left her chair, grasping his hand tightly and falling to her knees before him.

"Tell me it isn't true!" she pleaded frantically. "Tell me, please, you must! I can believe you."

She looked up at him with eyes devoid of any pomp or pride or any of the expressions Anakin usually saw in them. There was only desperation, and hope so painful that Anakin felt a sudden, wild urge to lie to her, to tell her that all was well, and see her become human again.

His throat tightened, as did her fingers. Her lips made the word, _Please_.

"I am sorry, Chancellor," Anakin said, barely able to speak. Amidala's face broke, and he felt her hand go limp around his. She turned away from him, still on her knees, and Anakin almost expected her to faint.

"…my homeworld…" Anakin barely heard her say, though she was so close to him. "My _home_…"

A sob escaped her throat, and Anakin reached downward just in time to catch her falling to the floor. She felt so frail beneath his hands, as though he could snap her arm with just a touch.

With nothing else to do, Anakin lifted Amidala to her feet and…held her. It was all she seemed to want from him; she clung to him as though she were drowning, as though she were dying. Again the thought impressed Anakin: _She is so young_. But she was older than he was. Anakin felt such pity for her; if only he could remove some of the sorrow which burdened her.

But though the Force could dampen memories and make some experiences less difficult to bear, Anakin would not do her such a disservice now. Amidala deserved to mourn for all she had lost—for, Anakin thought, she had lost all that was most dear to her, and what remained now lay in a dangerously precarious state.

The Supreme Chancellor still huddled in his arms, crying, small and dark and lovely. Anakin let the Force guide his motions and flow through his words as he gently straightened her, tilting her chin so that her tear-stricken eyes met his.

He did not have to speak to make himself understood.

"I am—sorry," Amidala gasped faintly, hiccoughing. "S-sorry for showing…such emotion…such weakness." She wiped her eyes with the back of her hand, and did not step back.

Anakin met her gaze. "It is only Jedi who cannot show their emotions," he told her. "You have lost more than I could ever imagine losing. Grief is not a sin, Chancellor."

Amidala nodded, and stepped out of his arms. She turned her back to him, but Anakin understood that this was not a rebuff. He continued to speak.

"It is my duty to remind you of yours," he said. "The galaxy is waiting to see what you will do in this crisis. I must implore you, for the sake of the Republic, to be strong." His voice grew softer. "Cry, by all means—but only in private."

She nodded once, her back still toward him. Anakin took this as a dismissal and turned to go.

"Thank you," she said suddenly, her voice a bit stronger, but vaguely uncertain. She seemed to have realized for the first time in what a compromising position Anakin had found her.

Anakin's lips did not move, but a smile touched his eyes. "Of course, Chancellor," he said, calm as ever, and shut the door behind him.


	47. Perish the Thought

As soon as his feet touched Coruscant's surface Anakin was running for the Council Chamber. It was the middle of the night, but he felt certain that the Council would still be there.

To his surprise, Anakin found the room entirely deserted. Bewildered, he searched for his Master's Force-signature and found Windu in the domestic section of the Temple. He ran to him, feeling sheepishly like a child looking for its parent.

Windu was speaking to Aelir Thren in low, urgent tones. Aelir was nodding, looking grim. Anakin waited for them to finish, and then finally Windu turned to him.

"What's going on?" Anakin asked. "Has anything happened?"

Windu let out a sigh. "I'm glad you're here," he said, not answering. "Did you get a chance to talk to the Chancellor?"

"Yes," Anakin replied impatiently, "she's fine." Or close enough, anyway, he thought.

"The Senate couldn't wait," Windu continued, "so as soon as she'd explained things to them, we requested a meeting with him."

"And?"

"He has agreed. He has a space station very close to Naboo—for obvious reasons. We are to meet him there, leaving now."

"Master—" Anakin broke off, hesitant. "I don't mean to question you, but is that wise? Going anywhere near that thing, much less Grievous himself…"

Windu's face was grim. "I would consider it our only course of action," he said. "We have so much to lose if this turns violent."

"_Turns violent?_" Anakin repeated incredulously. "He's already killed millions of people by pressing a button! How could you possible get more violent than that?"

"By killing billions," answered Windu simply.

Anakin's reply, had it been voiced, would have been a dumbfounded, "Ah." There was a pause, and then Anakin said, "So you're really going, then?"

Windu nodded.

"Then—be careful." That sounded silly, but Anakin meant it. "We've made the mistake of trusting him so many times in the past. Don't let him…get to you."

Windu faintly smiled. "I know that you're right," he said, but Anakin still looked at him expectantly. "I will be careful."

Now Anakin seemed satisfied. "What do you need me to do," he asked, "after you've left?" He was still new to his "Master" capacity, still craved guidance.

Windu looked around him thoughtfully. "Keep the peace," he said after a moment. "Make sure that anyone who has questions is answered, and let no one—_no one_—panic. All crowds, even those made up entirely of Jedi, have that tendency."

"Yes, Master," Anakin answered automatically.

"And—" Windu seemed to be deliberating whether or not he wanted to say this. Finally he made up his mind and said, in a lower tone of voice, "And be prepared to fight."

Anakin, breathless, could only nod. Then Windu motioned to Aelir, and together they disappeared around the corner.

* * *

At no specific time could Anakin be said to have gone to bed that night. He wandered the corridors, doing as Windu had instructed, and only occasionally did he sit down and allow himself a few moments' rest. Oddly enough, his mere presence seemed enough to calm the fearful whispers that wafted around the Temple like smoke, at least in part. 

Three hours after midnight, Anakin found himself in the med ward. He was tired, his body yearned for sleep, but his mind was, if not sharp, at least alert enough to know that if he tried to sleep now he would find nothing but haunting, restless thoughts.

Vaguely as he passed he registered a woman in dark robes sitting alone with her head in her hands, a healer kneeling to comfort a child who had just been sick. When he heard his name being called, he looked up to see Ferus moving quickly toward him.

They hadn't seen each other in months, but Ferus looked exactly the same as he always did, except for the thick cast around his right arm. The sight of it was enough to jerk Anakin out of his dismal reverie.

"What happened to you?" he asked when his friend finally reached him. Ferus appeared surprised at the question.

"A fight," he answered shortly. "Anakin, _what's going on?_ I've been knocked out on pain meds for the last two days, and nobody's telling me anything!"

Anakin grimaced. It wasn't an easy question to answer, no matter that he'd been doing it all night. As briefly as he could he outlined their situation, reiterating as needed that, yes, Grievous had indeed been lying for all these years, and no, he really didn't know what would happen now.

Ferus's face, when he finished, was white and grimly set. Interestingly enough, his first words had nothing to do with Grievous, his death machine, or the state of the universe in general.

"You should sit down," he said. "You look terrible."

Anakin wanted to retort, but found upon reflection that he really did feel terrible, and maybe it wouldn't kill him to sit down while the universe was collapsing around him. Five minutes later, he and Ferus had found chairs outside the med ward. Anakin thought ruefully that Ferus must be getting some sort of power rush, ordering around a Jedi Master.

"I can't believe we trusted him," Ferus was saying, "all this time."

Anakin didn't answer. Many things were starting to make sense to him. That absurd number of computer chips, all those years ago…those must have been for Grievous's machine. The blocked off space near Morav, the dissolution of Grievous's army—for who needed soldiers with weaponry like this?

"This must be the reason they killed Master Allie," Anakin said, rather thickly, his mind on a completely different track from his friend's. "She must have found out—they had to kill her, or they could never be certain that she wouldn't tell us what was going to happen."

"How long has he been planning this?"

"Must have been years. Ever since he offered peace."

"We should have known—"

"We did know!" Anakin snapped. "We knew, and the Senate told us we were wrong and to be quiet, and this is the result!"

His tone was accusing and angry, as though this were all Ferus's fault. Ferus looked as though he wanted to respond in kind, but resisted, knowing Anakin better than that.

"You should get some rest," he said finally, knowing part of the reason for his friend's quick temper. Anakin groaned.

"Oh, what are you, my mother?" he asked, and as he spoke his head fell into his hands because he was so very tired and the weight of all that had happened was pressing down upon him. Anakin felt another weight on his shoulder, and it was a moment before he realized that it was Ferus's hand.

"Rest," he heard his friend repeat. "I'll stay with you. I can make sure no nightmares touch you."

Anakin wanted to protest. It didn't feel right, sitting, resting, not after such devastation and death. But there was always such a time after tragedy, in which one could do nothing but feel helpless—and, Anakin thought wistfully, he couldn't remember the last time he had slept a dreamless sleep.

He decided to give Ferus his consent, then thought that he barely even had the strength to open his mouth, and realized that his friend had already begun, with the Force, to send him to sleep. Anakin was vaguely outraged, but it was hardly even a minute before all thoughts vanished from his mind, and healing sleep crept over him.

* * *

What awoke Anakin was not Ferus, nor a nightmare, but something far more frightening.

Without warning, through his deep and empty sleep came a flash of dread, so sharp and surprising that Anakin jumped. Sickening emotions that had been furthest from his mind now came rushing at him at terrifying speed—bewilderment, wrath, horror, and above it all he heard Windu's voice shouting in his ear, "Treachery! Get out—!"

Then came the most awful feeling of them all, the sensation that someone had taken his soul and wounded it, stabbed it, hiding it far away out of his reach and then laughing again. Anakin cried out, and Ferus must have heard him, for he felt a hand on him once again, holding him tightly.

Only then did Anakin open his eyes The instant that light cracked between his eyelids, lightning pain split across his temples, but he jumped to his feet, careless. Ferus looked alarmed, drawing his arm back.

"Anakin, I'm so sorry—what's—are you all right?"

Anakin was having a hard time drawing breath; the physical effects of powerful Force-visions were all of them unpleasant.

"Not—your fault," he gasped, holding his head. It was impossible to continue until he'd gotten his breath. When at last he was breathing with relative normality, Anakin looked up at his friend.

"Get as many fighters and pilots ready as you can, as fast as you can," he ordered. "Find the other Council members and tell them to come to the Senate."

Without another word he raced past Ferus, sparing only the vaguest thought how strange it was to be the one of the pair giving orders and having them obeyed.

The thought "Kriffing visions!" burst into his head as he jumped into a speeder and took off.

* * *

Her guards tried to stop him. Anakin ran past them, and when, bewildered, they ran after him, Anakin sent a wave of the Force sweeping low to the ground behind them, knocking them to their knees. By the time they'd managed to stand, Anakin was already through the door. 

"Master Skywalker!" said Amidala, looking relieved to see him. "I was just going to send for you. Grievous has—"

"Grievous has betrayed us," Anakin panted, "again."

Her forehead wrinkled in an anxious frown. "What do you mean?" she asked him in a panicked voice.

"Once again we expected too great a level of decency from him," Anakin said bitterly. "The group of Jedi sent to negotiate with him have been ambushed. He's captured them."

"What?" Amidala gasped, grasping at the back of her chair. "No—the Jedi cannot—"

"Treachery and violence are the only languages Grievous understands, Excellency," Anakin said bluntly. "We cannot speak to him in any other way. The Jedi are not infallible."

Amidala looked as though another blow might finish her off. Anakin could see that she had banked greatly on the Jedi's influence over Grievous.

"Are you…certain?" she asked him in a low voice.

"Yes." Anakin was growing impatient. "If you don't believe me, wait until he contacts you. I'm certain he'll mention it."

"But that's what I wanted you here for!" Amidala looked up suddenly, her eyes frantic. "He has told me he plans to address the Senate at—" she checked the time "—in five minutes. And now…"

"Now it is all the more important that I am here," Anakin said firmly. "Tell me where I should go so I can hear what he has to say."

"Yes…yes, come with me."

She led him, with swift-moving and silent feet, through the carpet-muffled hallways, to what Anakin soon saw was her own dais. It hadn't yet left its little dock, hidden from the eyes of the Senate. There were no guards in this room, nor anyone but the two of them. Amidala stepped into the dais and motioned for Anakin to follow her. Almost as soon as he did so, the dais started moving, so perfectly designed that neither of its occupants felt even slightly off-balance as it did so.

The great doors opened into the enormous Senate chamber, where all the rest of the universe was waiting. Anakin took a step back to allow Amidala to speak, but there was no need, for they had hardly reached their place in the puzzle of daises when the hologram projector in the center of the room flickered once again to life, and there, in all his simple wickedness, stood Grievous.

Amidala's hands were white as snow, clenched as they were at her sides. Anakin, thinking quickly, sent a vague calming thought through the Force toward her. He saw her gaze shift sideways for a moment, almost turning to look at him. She knew what he had done, and was grateful for it.

"Esteemed Chancellor," Grievous said. As he had done before, he bowed to Amidala, but it was a mocking gesture. "I trust you know quite well already of the sad fate of Naboo."

She was calmer now, but still she trembled with anger as she faced him.

"_Monster!_" Amidala spat, making no effort to hide the disgust and hatred in her voice. "How do you _dare_ show your face in this place, this bastion of justice? This foul crime you have committed, against myself and the Republic and—Naboo—" her voice shook on the beloved word "—will not go unpunished, and it will certainly never happen again."

"Of course not," Grievous said, the tone of his voice supremely smooth, if not the actual timbre. "But sadly, it is not in my power to stop such horrible deeds. That authority lies entirely in your hands."

Amidala hesitated; Anakin could see that it pained her to ask Grievous a question, putting her, even momentarily, in a position of subordination. She settled on making her tone so icy it could have frozen fire when she asked, "What do you mean by that?"

"It is very simple, Chancellor," Grievous growled. "There are certain things that I require. If my needs are met, an incident like the destruction of Naboo will never take place again."

"Needs?"

Grievous's eyes glinted, and Anakin thought that, behind his mask, the General must be smiling. "There are a few. They may seen extravagant at first, I will grant you, but I think when you consider the circumstances, you will find them quite reasonable."

"I suggest you speak quickly," Amidala said, her voice sharp. "My patience cannot last forever."

"Certainly. Where shall I begin?" Grievous mused, as if to himself. "Perhaps with those who have tried my own patience the greatest. Control of the Jedi Order must be granted to an associate of mine. I think you will remember him. You know him as the Count Dooku."

Anakin stiffened angrily.

"Ridiculous," Amidala said. "The Jedi have their own leaders."

"Ah, but I have my plans for them as well," Grievous told her. "The Jedi Order itself is, of course, immeasurably useful to its ruling body, but its leaders—that is, the Council—they have their own untoward ways. They must turn themselves in to me, to be dealt with at my discretion."

"To you?" questioned Amidala, biting back fury. "The Order reports to _me_."

"But that is my third requirement, Chancellor. I must ask you to step down from your position as Supreme Chancellor."

An unmistakable wave of fury swept across the room like an electric shock. Anakin heard a clear shout of protest from somewhere down below, though Amidala herself did not respond. Grievous ignored all of this.

"You may, of course, serve the good you do now in a lesser capacity. But your current position, I am afraid, must be mine."

"Never," Amidala declared, through clenched teeth. "I will not allow you control over the Republic that I have given my life and my homeplanet to sustain. And the Senate would never follow you!"

"Of course not. They, too, will be forced to find other areas of employment other than politics. There are many things I admire about the Republic, but the Senate is not one of them. I intend to do away with it entirely."

"A dictatorship!" Amidala cried. "That is what you propose to turn the Republic into. You will destroy—"

"Far from it, Chancellor," Grievous interrupted, correcting her. "I intend to save it." He gave what might have almost been a smug little chuckle. Anakin felt sickened. "You know the damage that I could, unwillingly, do to the Republic—and have already done." Grievous's eyes met Amidala's with a cruel sympathy that mocked her sorrow. "Naboo was a lovely planet."

Anakin felt Amidala start forward, driven by anger. Without thinking he reached out swiftly and touched her arm, cautioned her back. Grievous saw the movement, slight as it was—and laughed.

"How touching. But do not think I have forgotten you, Master Jedi." Behind the mask, his eyes narrowed. "Perish the thought, Chancellor, that the Jedi can 'ride to your rescue.' Allow me to show you…"

He waved a hand, apparently giving a signal to someone. The holographic image flickered out of sight. Seconds later, something rose in its place that nearly caused Anakin to stop breathing.

It was Windu's face and Windu's form, but it took a moment for Anakin to recognize him, because he had never seen his Master in such a position, prone awkwardly on the floor and obviously unconscious, his limbs bound with absurd, cruel tightness.

"How…?" he heard Amidala breathe, almost whimpering, but Anakin had no answer for her. The breath had gone from his own lungs, and all he could do was stare. How was it _possible_—?

The image was replaced, in swift succession, by the unconscious bodies of those who had also gone to do the impossible and attempt to reason with a monster like Grievous: Siri Tachi, Adi Gallia, Aelir Thren, Ka'ela Brun, Eeth Koth, Shaak Ti. Each, like Windu, was bound mercilessly hand and foot. You couldn't, Anakin thought numbly, take chances with Jedi.

Grievous was back, confident that he had shaken the security of every person in the room. "They are, as you can see, quite helpless," he said, with an affected casualness. "Rather symbolic of your own status, is it not, Chancellor Amidala?"

Anakin looked at Amidala, who seemed shocked beyond words. "Wh—why have you done this?" she asked faintly.

"I have already told you that. All twelve members of the Jedi Council belong to me. Should the rest turn themselves in to me and the rest of my demands be met, the others will be released."

Amidala was speechless. Grievous, anticipating this, finished the discussion quickly.

"I will contact you again, in twelve standard hours time, to hear your answer," he told them. "If you decide to decline my generous offer…so be it. Just remember that there will be consequences."

The hologram disappeared.

* * *

**Author's Note: Okay, here's the deal, guys. I worked hard on this chapter, and the next one will be even better. There are 109 people reading this story, according to my Alert Stats, so I think I'm being reasonable when I ask for a minimum of eight reviews on this chapter before I post the next one.**

** Regards,  
Your loving and benevolent Dictat**—**I mean Author.  
**


	48. Hearing Voices

It was obvious to Anakin that the Senate wanted to speak on the matter, probably willing to debate about this for all twelve hours that Grievous had given them, and they certainly wanted to hear what Amidala had to say. But it was equally obvious to the Jedi that Amidala could not bear much more. She stared blankly at the floor until he took her arm.

"Chancellor, come with me," he said, and she obeyed, allowing him to lead her away from the noises of the crowd. The dais moved back toward the wall, and Anakin took Amidala through the door.

"Chancellor—"

She looked up at him, lost. "What can I do?" she asked him in a helpless whisper. "I can't give in—but if the Jedi can do nothing—"

"Fight him," Anakin pressed. "Grievous won't get away with this. Let me fight him, the Jedi can fight him."

Amidala looked as though she were about to speak, but a noise from behind Anakin made him turn, to see the remaining seven Jedi Masters standing before him.

"Notify us, Ferus Olin did," said Master Yoda, speaking at the head of the group. "Only just in time, we were, to see Grievous."

Anakin let go of Amidala's elbow and turned to face them. "And?"

"He has committed two unforgivable sins," said Plo Koon, very seriously. "He has destroyed innocent life, and he has taken captive Jedi who came in peace. We will fight."

"He will destroy another planet," protested Amidala from behind. "Grievous is certain to retaliate if you attack him."

"But we have a pretty good idea of where he is," Anakin said, looking in turn at the faces turned toward him. "In fighters, we could get there before the twelve hours are up. Maybe by then we can stop him."

"We'll need as many fighters as we can get," said Saesee Tiin. "I will volunteer my services." Master Tiin was a marvelously skilled pilot, but it wasn't always well-known because, unlike Anakin, he didn't show off the fact.

"I'll go as well," Anakin said. "I would suggest that all of us go, but we can't leave the Temple completely without leadership, even for a few days."

Finding someone willing to stay behind turned out to be a tricky business. Plo Koon had to come, as he also was a proficient pilot, and Agen Kolar insisted on fighting. Grievous had captured another of his species, and Zabraks were fiercely loyal to their own. At last, Master Kcaj and Master Yoda agreed to remain, and then all eight returned to the Temple.

But six wasn't enough, and they squandered one hour of their precious twelve looking for reinforcements. It wasn't a matter of finding those who were _willing_—for the story of Grievous's second betrayal had spread quickly through the Temple, and outrage right behind it—but those who were actually skilled pilots and could hold their own in a space battle. There weren't enough of these as Anakin would have liked. Thirty might have been a number large enough to satisfy him, but, not including the Masters, they found only eleven Knights who fit the bill. (Ferus, though he wanted to come, was deemed unfit because of his arm.) One of the eleven, to Anakin's surprise, was Drin.

The Jedi Temple did not have an entire fleet of starfighters at its disposal, but it had enough for each pilot of the seventeen. Just before leaving, the little band was separated in two, one group to be led by Anakin and the other by Saesee Tiin. Drin, as it happened, was on Anakin's team.

"Why are you coming?" Anakin asked, just before they all boarded their respective fighters. "Why did you volunteer?"

Drin's face tightened into an expression of guarded calm. "Grievous kidnapped Master Brun," he said quietly. "This is personal."

Without another word he leapt into his fighter, and Anakin did likewise.

"Gold Team, move out," he ordered over the comm channel. Eight fighters rose simultaneously into the air, and Anakin quickly transferred the hyperspace path he was taking to their ships' computers. They drifted up to their hyperspace rings, entering coordinates and locations. Just before they shot into hyperspace he heard Saesee Tiin's deep voice over the comm echoing, "Blue Team, move out!" and Anakin knew, the steady hammering of his heart the only betrayal of his tense feelings, that this was possibly the most important mission he had ever undertaken.

* * *

Hours seemed to stretch on endlessly in that tight little space. It was difficult to communicate between ships in hyperspace, but it could be managed. Normally on a mission like this, Anakin would have passed the time by joking over the comm with his friends or playing sabacc in his head, but such frivolity, now, seemed almost blasphemous.

He stretched one arm over the other, and the resulting quiet sigh seemed enormous in that tiny space. How, Anakin wondered, could something of such fantastic importance be held up by something so trivial as distance? He had slept a bit, tried to eat but hadn't any appetite. How much time was left on their deadline? Had they already passed it? While they were stranded in hyperspace without news from the outside world, had Grievous already destroyed another innocent planet?

Anakin cleared his throat; his voice was hoarse from long disuse. There was a break in the monotony the Force had been sending him. He flicked the comm on. "Gold Team, we are approaching our destination, coordinates 741k-398s. Watch out for debris when you're exiting hyperspace." He didn't have to say what the debris was from. Anakin paused, indecisive, then added, "Just remember—we don't know what this weapon looks like, what defenses it has, or what it's totally capable of. It might be able to just shoot us out of the air, or it might be completely helpless. I have to warn you to be prepared for anything."

"Copy that, Gold Leader," came a voice over the comm. Anakin couldn't be sure, but he thought it was Drin's voice.

"Prepare to exit hyperspace in fifteen standard minutes," Anakin ordered. "Stand by for further orders."

A chorus of "Copy that," issued from the comm unit, and then the channel relapsed into stressed silence. The hyperspace indicator was blinking on the dashboard, telling Anakin what he already knew.

…_hear me?_

Anakin straightened suddenly. He had felt something—it was like waking up but not knowing what had awoken you, the sensation that something intangible had touched him. Hesitantly Anakin sent a questioning, _Master? I hear you._

The thoughts were being pushed to him at great effort, Anakin could tell. Windu was weakened and tired, and not all of his messages made it through in their entirety.

…_are you? I can feel you…close by._

He made his answer as clear and precise as he could. _The Jedi are coming for you. Grievous will be punished for this._

Blatant relief and worry blurred themselves together in Windu's wordless response. Anakin waited for an answer, but felt nothing, and wondered angrily what Grievous could have done to a Jedi Master to make him so helpless.

Bolstered by indignation, he flicked the comm unit on with as much resolve as one could fit into that small action. "Gold Team, we've reached our destination. Exiting hyperspace now."

He pulled a lever, and the stars shooting past him slurred into lines and then reverted to their original twinkling forms. No sooner had his hand left the lever than Anakin grabbed for the controls and pushed them hastily downward, only just avoiding colliding with a boulder-sized asteroid. There was debris everywhere—the space formerly occupied by Naboo had become a littered asteroid field, and it took Anakin a few moments to find a space between all of the rocks where he could hover for a moment.

Beside him, he could see other Jedi popping back into normal space, and winced as one of them hit an asteroid. "Whose ship was that?" he demanded.

"This is Gold Six," answered a voice Anakin didn't recognize. "Sorry about that, Gold Leader."

"Any serious damage?"

"None, sir. My wing was clipped, but it's nothing permanent."

"Good." Anakin peered through the field, trying to spot Grievous's station. "Gold Team, spread out to a distance of twenty yards on either wing and fly out of here. Notify me as soon as you find Grievous."

"Copy that, sir!" The fighters obediently spread themselves and flew in unison toward the edge of the asteroid field. Anakin still couldn't see anything through all the debris, but as they neared empty space, he could make out one of Naboo's moons. It looked like Ohma-D'un, though he couldn't be sure.

"Where are you?" he whispered to Grievous through clenched teeth. Out of the field, he made a slow circle in his fighter. Yes, that had to be Ohma-D'un, and there further on, was Rori, and on the other side of it was Tasia. So the one that sat apart from them was…

Anakin frowned in thought. The name of Naboo's fourth moon escaped his mind. Come to think of it, he could have sworn that Naboo only had three.

"Sir!" An excited voice came from the comm. "Three black fighters circling at three o'clock." He was indicating the unnamed satellite Anakin had just been considering. "The station must be behind that moon!"

Anakin got closer, Gold Team following close behind. Grievous's fighters didn't notice him, which was good, because at that exact moment Anakin had a shock so terrible that his grip on the controls slipped and he nearly drove his ship into the fighter closest to him. He couldn't speak, but it was said for him in a breathless tone over the comm. There was a crackle of static, and then someone choked out, "That's no moon."

Anakin swore, using the worst word he knew.

"Yes, sir," someone agreed grimly.

_Do you see it? Are you ready?_ Anakin pathed to Saesee Tiin.

_We are ready,_ Tiin replied. _Give him no warning. When you are ready—_

"Instructions, Gold Leader?"

"Hold positions," Anakin ordered absently, still listening to Tiin.

—_signal, and we will attack. My team will take care of his fighters. You will destroy his weapon_.

"Gold Team, Blue Team will cover us," Anakin relayed. "Find a weak spot and attack. Defend yourselves if you need to, but your focus is the weapon. Shields up!" He waited while the order was obeyed. "Account for yourselves."

"Gold One ready, sir."

"Gold Two ready."

"Gold Three ready, sir."

"Gold Four ready, sir."

"Gold Five ready.

"Gold Six ready."

"Gold Seven ready, Anakin." That was Drin's voice.

"Right." There was a moment, in which all of eternity seemed to hang in the air. Anakin couldn't seem to summon the breath for his next, necessary word. "Go!"

Without hesitation Gold Team swooped forward, diving toward the gigantic weapon. Anakin could feel his adrenaline level rising as he flew; no matter how serious the situation, he could never fail to receive a physical thrill from such a battle.

The three enemy fighters were making long, uninspired circles around each other. They had obviously been ordered to keep watch, but it was anyone's guess how long they had been waiting there with no disturbances. Before they knew it, Blue Team had swooped down upon them, and two miniature explosions burst into life before quickly dying. The third fighter raced frantically away, two Blue fighters chasing after it.

Knowing that already a distress signal had been sent, Anakin flicked on the comm, still flying at high speed. "Look quickly for any weak spot," he said. "We probably don't have much time. Any hangar that's open, some part of it that's not finished, anything!"

The weapon was enormous, but they were still far enough away that they could see most of it. There was one spot that looked vaguely promising to Anakin, a circular indention that was darker than the metal surrounding it. He shot toward it.

"Incoming from six o'clock!" shouted someone suddenly over the comm. "Gold Leader, look—" The rest of the message was cut off with a burst of static, and Anakin swerved, the Force pounding in his ears, just in time to see three blasts of green light go flying past him harmlessly into space.

"They've got reinforcements!" came Drin's cracking voice. "Ten—twelve TIE's."

Anakin turned and there they were, little black ships with their curious flat wings, so easy to destroy but so deadly, coming toward them at top speed. Anakin swerved again, the Force pounding in his ears, and raced again toward the weapon, but he felt three of them break off to follow him. Behind him he could sense the battle raging, felt torn, but pressed on. The weapon was most important, destroy the weapon—

A horrible noise that sounded like something being ripped in half came from the receiver. "I'm hit!" someone shouted. Their voice was young. "Help me! This is Blue Two, I'm hit, please—!"

Anakin stopped in midair. Saesee Tiin saw it.

_Get to the weapon,_ he commanded, his Force-thought the only clear thing in Anakin's mind. The rest was blurred black and red, adrenaline clouding his vision and his brain. From somewhere very distant he heard someone's ragged breathing, frantic and heated, and realized dimly that it was his own.

The sheer slope of the weapon rose up before him, massive and silver-gray. The size of it took Anakin's breath away, even as he sought for a way to destroy it. He looked for the indention again, but it was harder to find now that he was so close.

There—there!—

He dove, his fingers somehow steady as they clutched the joystick. Straight to its center he went, to the spot darkest of all, and sent jets of red light flying toward it, hoping, praying that the small resulting explosion he saw was crippling…

"Pull up! Pull up!" No name was given in this frantic command, so its instructions were followed instantly by almost half the Jedi, no one knowing at whom it was directed. Anakin, luckily, was among that half, for it was Drin shouting at him, and the three TIE fighters had just caught up to him.

There was no more time to go for the weapon—Anakin had to concentrate entirely on getting out of there unscathed. They had seen what he'd done, and they were not happy about it. Holding his breath without meaning to, Anakin pulled the controls back as far as they'd go and flew, upside-down, over the heads of the TIE's, firing as he went. He only just clipped one, but with no shields, it was enough, and the fighter was gone.

_Get to the weapon, destroy the weapon—_

He couldn't see the indention anymore, but now it no longer mattered to him. The Force stretched out before him like an extended arm, searching for anything that might conceivably be a weak spot. There was a hangar below him, and Anakin dove again, firing at any part of the weapon he could reach. His mind had crystallized into one pulsing thought that involved the obliteration of both Grievous and his horrific death machine.

…_nakin…Anakin…are you here?_

The shock was so great that Anakin stopped, just stopped, in midair. His thoughts scattered once again, and when they returned, they came in this order:

_Windu's not on the moon._

_He's not on a nearby ship._

_He's on the weapon._

_All the hostages are on the weapon._

_If we destroy the weapon—_

_If we destroy Grievous—_

_We destroy them._

"Fall back!" he ordered. "Fall back! The hostages are on Grievous's weapon! We can't destroy it! Fall—"

And that was when, taking full advantage of Anakin's distraction, the two remaining TIE fighters emptied their power cells into his ship.

Anakin's fighter gave a great shudder, its lights flashing red and yellow and occasionally just turning off in order to alarm him that something was very wrong. His shields had kept him from actually exploding, but they were exhausted, and without them Anakin was a sitting duck. His comm was gone.

_Get out of here!_ Drin yelled in his mind's ear. _You're dead if they hit you again!_

Anakin's mind had gone blank, not with fear but with absolute bewilderment. He knew that Drin was right, but he couldn't think of what he could conceivably do to ensure getting out of here alive. The TIE fighters were circling back, and Anakin could do nothing but wait for them—he could barely even _fly_.

They swooped toward him, and Anakin, driven by desperation, did the only thing he could think of that would get him away fast enough. Without any sort of coordinates or path, he forced his limping little ship into hyperspace. The stars seemed to blur, and then there was that familiar sucking noise and he was hurling through space at unthinkable speeds.

The quiet seemed overwhelming after the constant noise and shouts of the battle he had just left. It rang in his ears, providing—helped along by the numerous lights around him which, whatever their functions had been before, seemed to exist now only to flash brightly—a magnificent headache.

Anakin knew he should go back, _had_ to go back, but common sense told him that if he went anywhere near a battle now his ship would not survive. Even now he could feel it weakening beneath him, failing, alarmingly close to simply falling out of the sky. Worse, he could feel himself growing faint, and the idea occurred to him, very vaguely, that he might have sustained a concussion when his ship had been hit. His ship had no coordinates; if he passed out, he could no longer keep the poor thing on track, and he would inevitably smash into a planet and get himself killed.

For the second time that day he pulled the lever, and his ship, with an awful noise, thudded out of hyperspace. Below him, through eyes that wanted very badly to close, Anakin could see the rounded surface of some planet.

He began his descent. Anakin had no idea where he was, or how far he was from the battle, but one conviction remained to him: He needed to land. He needed to land.

Then, when he had only just gotten through the atmosphere, the lights in his cockpit—which had been acting in a manner very distressing thus far—gave up. This was followed shortly, as Anakin knew it would be, by a complete failure of all the systems of his ship, including the one that kept him airborne.

He fell, sharply, knowing that he was probably about to die. Somewhere on the way down his ship had flipped over, so that Anakin was gazing thickly at the sky that seemed to be moving away from him. He'd always seen space as something hard and cold, decorated with sharp pinpricks of light against the darkness. Now, somehow, it all looked so soft to him, like a blanket that waited to wrap him up and warm him.

Anakin's only thought when he hit the ground was of incredible pain, but it only lasted for a split second, because then he did black out. Somewhere in the distance, or perhaps somewhere very close, he heard a voice say his name, but so deep was he in unconsciousness that he could not even tell whether it was a man's voice or a woman's or simply the thoughts in his head.

* * *

"Anakin."

There it was again. He tried to sit up instinctively when he heard the voice, but every muscle of his body rebelled forcefully against the idea, and Anakin fell back against the pillows, his eyes still shut, sucking in his breath with the pain.

"Ani, wake up."

Ani? Who was there in the universe who called him Ani? He opened his eyes, but even before they had focused on the dark face before him, he recognized the calloused, loving hand on his arm.

"Mom," he breathed.

She smiled at him. "You had a bad fall," Shmi told him. "Lie still—you'll be all right."

Anakin's vision was still blurry, as were his thoughts. He thought he must be dead, for there was Shmi—but he hurt too badly to not be alive. Surely the dead couldn't feel pain like this. Then she took his hand in his, and he stopped thinking.

"Don't leave me," Anakin begged Shmi. "I want you to stay."

"Oh, love," she said softly, "I'm sorry." She touched his brow, and Anakin felt himself falling back into darkness.

He awoke again to see a small white face grinning into his own.

"Papa said I could take care of you. You look terrible."

Something thick and painful rose up in Anakin's throat. The Force was cruel to let him see this.

Her little voice faltered. "Aren't you glad to see me? You said you wouldn't forget me. You're still wearing my necklace."

"Aiin," he choked out, "I need you to go."

She looked distraught, but Anakin—though he never would have hurt her—knew even in his weak and vague state of mind that Shmi had been dead for years now and would not come back, that Aiin had been murdered by Karan Toi and her bones were probably dust on Ryloth now. Why the Force tortured him so, Anakin didn't know—but he was certain of what would come next, and he trembled when he thought of it.

"No," he whispered to the wall. "I'm not strong enough. Don't make me do that."

His vision snapped, and suddenly lights and colors seemed to be exploding in his head, while at the same time a vicious pain in his leg made him cry out. The wall watched him impassively, and Anakin knew he couldn't keep his eyes on it forever. The lights faded to a bearable state; the pain did the same.

A voice he had not heard in seven years said gently in his ear, "Don't move. The pain will lessen. Just breathe…"

There was a pause, and then he heard Obi-Wan say, in a very different tone, one that seemed to hurt him as he spoke, "Oh, _Anakin_."


	49. Seven Years Different

Through the darts of pain that shot through his body without mercy or respite, Anakin shut his eyes.

"End it," he commanded the Force. "I won't look. I won't." For the first time he actually listened to the words coming out of his mouth, and realized that they were hardly more than empty slurs. He was having a hard time moving his jaw. "I wun loak" was a more accurate description of the sounds that he made.

"You're tensing up," said the voice that pretended to be Obi-Wan but wasn't. "It will only hurt worse if you don't relax."

Anakin refused to do so, in some vain attempt to spite the Force and the voice that lied. The sharp, digging pain in his side grew.

"Anakin, please." The urgency was growing in the sound. A hand touched him, tried to move his face from where it lay buried in the pillow, and Anakin wondered how bad it could be. He had seen no image, no remembrance of Obi-Wan in seven years. His old Master was buried in the darkest, most cobwebbed part of his thoughts, along with all the pain that Obi-Wan's death had brought him. Would remembering bring the pain back?

The choice was made almost inadvertently. Something moved against his knee and pain splintered in his leg, hot agony that refused to die, and Anakin's back arched against the bed, his eyes squeezing closed even tighter. But the pain wiped his mind, if only for a split second, and when it arced and began its descent, he forgot why he was keeping his eyes shut again and neglected to keep them that way. So he saw, and he remembered.

Seven years had made it impossible to recall the exact features of Obi-Wan's face, even if Anakin had ever wanted to, which he had not. But here, now, when it was before him, bending over him in concern, Anakin could only think, _Yes. This is how it was._

There was the ginger-colored hair; there were the blue eyes that were not dark like Anakin's own, but crystalline blue, as though one were looking through the shallowest part of the sea. There was that one small scar in the middle of his forehead and the little wrinkles around his mouth. Looking at these things, Anakin felt an ache rise up in his chest that he had not felt in a very long time—but it was small, and knew itself to be irrelevant. It faded after only a second.

_There,_ was Anakin's next thought. _I _have_ done it._

"Force," said Obi-Wan, a bewildered, trembling smile at his lips. "How long has it been?"

"Years," Anakin answered, the word coming out clearer than he would have thought himself capable of making it. "And years."

A replying word seemed poised on Obi-Wan's tongue, but he changed his mind and said nothing.

Something almost mischievous in Anakin's nature wanted to ask where he was now, why he was lying on a bed of pillows and blankets when he had crashed on craggy and unforgiving rocks—he wanted to see what explanation his confused mind would produce. But he was in a lot of pain, and Anakin could feel his body wearing thin in dealing with all these injuries at once. He chose to stay within the realm of reality.

"How badly am I hurt?" he asked.

"Your injuries are serious," answered Obi-Wan, "but not fatal. Obviously," he added amusedly.

Anakin couldn't help himself. "It really hurts," he said faintly.

Obi-Wan's face softened with compassion, as it had always done.

"I can imagine," he said. "That must have been a terrible fall. You would be in much more pain if it weren't for the bacta."

Anakin had to laugh at that, a thick, strangled sound. "Bacta?" he asked. "And where did I get that from?"

"From me," said Obi-Wan, looking bemused. Anakin wanted to laugh again, but his ribs protested violently. He only gave Obi-Wan a weak grin before falling back against the pillows, but that turned hastily into a hiss of pain.

Obi-Wan's frown deepened for a moment. "Hold on," he said, and stood to leave the room. When he returned, ducking his head briefly under the low doorway, he bore a small medical pouch.

"You need this more than I do," he murmured. It seemed an odd thing for a hallucination to say, but before Anakin could deliberate upon it further, Obi-Wan had taken from the pouch a short syringe. With an obviously practiced hand he filled it with some bright, clear substance, then held it to the underside of Anakin's left arm and inserted it.

Compared to what Anakin was feeling elsewhere, the needle hurt very little. Obi-Wan pulled it out once the clear liquid within had vanished entirely into Anakin's system, and then took it back out of the room from whence it had come.

When he returned, Anakin asked him, "What was that?"

"A pain-killer," Obi-Wan replied, sitting down. "A very strong one. It might knock you out a bit, but the pain will be gone."

Anakin knew it wasn't real, but his pain began subtly to subside all the same, and for that he was grateful. Very dimly, he remembered that he could command the Force, and sent its healing waves into his battered body. Between the two remedies, the rough and pounding agony became just bearable. His breathing attained a peaceable rhythm; he was beginning to feel the soporific effects of the medication.

Obi-Wan watched him with interest from the bedside. "You seem to be taking this very well," he remarked. "I would have thought you'd be a bit more surprised to see me."

Anakin considered that for a moment, his thoughts unabashed and fuzzy. "Maybe I don't miss you as much as I used to," he offered quietly.

"Is that so?" Obi-Wan asked, his eyes slipping from Anakin's face.

"Yes." It was true—but that section of his chest containing Anakin's heart had not lost its tight, painful ache which had nothing to do with his fall.

Obi-Wan sighed. "I've been gone a long time, haven't I?"

"Yes," Anakin said again, "but I got used to it. I had to."

He felt an ease in talking to this Obi-Wan, a fabrication of his fevered mind, that he could never have felt with the real one. Perhaps this was the closure he had always needed, or maybe he simply needed to think that Obi-Wan knew what had come after his own death, and how Anakin had changed himself because of it.

Something like regret was reflected on Obi-Wan's face. "You have to understand," he said, speaking as though to convince himself, "there were reasons I couldn't come back."

"I know," said Anakin, confused.

"I tried—Anakin, I _tried_—but everything stood in my way. And I always knew, in the back of my mind, that it was useless. Even if I could somehow get back to you, things would never be the same between us." The words sounded distant, as though Obi-Wan were remembering something from a very long time ago. "Our bond was so strong."

Anakin blinked, very slowly. "I thought it was," he said quietly. Obi-Wan looked at him.

"What?"

"I never felt anything from you," Anakin said, surprising himself with his vehemence. "If our bond was so strong, if you were in the Force you should have been able to let me see you, or even just talk to me!"

There was a very strange expression in Obi-Wan's face. "I was not in the Force," he corrected, his voice faint. "Certainly not that…"

"Then why?" Anakin demanded, desperate and plaintive. He could feel the drug closing around his mind, but fought for consciousness for a few minutes more. "Tell me, please, before I wake up and you disappear." He had not realized until now how frantically this very question had plagued him.

Obi-Wan's fingers tightened on his arm. "I am not some figment of your imagination. I am not leaving you."

Anakin gave a very weak laugh. "You're not real," he mumbled. "I'm quite sure of it."

"Not real?" Obi-Wan's grip grew suddenly very tight. Anakin flinched. "I thought you weren't real when I saw you on the plateau, broken within an inch of your life, but here you are, with me."

"I felt you go," Anakin insisted, determined to hold on to that one fact though it killed him. "I talked to Karan Toi. I waited seven years. I changed."

"Anakin, look at me," Obi-Wan commanded, his voice low. "Look very well."

Through bleary eyelids Anakin looked up at the eyes, the hair, the scars. He could see them as they had been before, but now he looked again. For the first time he saw emotions and years in those eyes that had never been there before. He saw white at the corners of the ginger—he saw unfamiliar scars, still pink, newly healed.

Hallucinations, Anakin knew, did not change.

The breath flew from his lungs, and the shock he felt drained every drop of the medication from his body as his mind flew into sudden, blinding focus. He felt everything, all the pain it had taken from him, and it fueled the one emotion that overwhelmed him.

He had not felt anger, pure, vicious anger, in a very long time, but he felt it now.

"You're alive?" he choked out. Obi-Wan looked taken aback at the ferocity in those words.

"I—"

"No! You can't be!" Anakin wanted to stand, to run, but it was all he could do just to pull himself up weakly into a vague sitting position, and his body ached and throbbed when he had finished. Tears of some powerful, unnamed passion stung his eyes. "Not after all this time—how _dare_ you—!"

"Anakin, what are you saying?" Obi-Wan asked, his voice weak and disbelieving. "I thought—"

"You don't realize it at all, do you?" A horrible, bitter laugh erupted from Anakin's throat. "FORCE! You don't know how long I waited for you to come back! You think I got on with my life when you left me?"

"I didn't want to leave y—"

"YOU ABANDONED ME!" Anakin bellowed. He was almost screaming, a caught in a fury so strong that, if he had been able, he would have physically lashed out at his former Master. It was so overpowering, it felt like a parody of anger. He did not know how Obi-Wan was somehow alive when Anakin had felt him die without doubt, and right now nothing could be less relevant. "You left me with nothing, and I almost died! Do you know what I had to do to keep going without you?"

Anger like this had not overtaken him in all of his life, not even on that fateful day seven years ago, but this—_this!_—was unbearable. Anakin felt quite demented, shouting into the undefending silence; even within his own mind he did not know whether he wanted to embrace Obi-Wan or kill him.

It was then that the physical toll of Anakin's tirade caught up with him. He was left breathless, leaning awkwardly against the wall, every muscle and bone of his body in pain.

Obi-Wan was quiet, which only maddened Anakin further. When he spoke, it was to the ground.

"I was not lying to you when I said that I tried to get back to the Temple. At first there was nothing more than a temporary setback. And then I realized, after a few months—when no rescue attempts came, and I heard nothing—that you must have thought I was dead."

"What else could I believe?" Anakin asked. "You left the Force, I couldn't feel you at all!"

"Anakin, I didn't _leave_ the Force!" Obi-Wan said, raising his head, suddenly vehement. "It was taken from me!"

"Taken—?" Anakin was silent for a moment, absorbing all this. Then he said, "Tell me everything."

* * *

**Author's Note: I am SORRY that this chapter took so long! But I had to take my time. After all, it's sort of pivotal, don't you think?**


	50. Bubbles Popping

Obi-Wan took a breath. When the words came out of his mouth, it was obvious that these were not the first time they had been spoken. They had been rehearsed, perhaps hundreds of times, to the empty air and to the wall, explanations that Obi-Wan longed for Anakin to hear.

"I was captured by Karan Toi that night—I assume you'd realized that. His men brought me to their hiding place. I thought they were going to kill me, and I planned to escape before then, but I didn't get the chance. Only a few hours later Toi came in with a Force-collar. They forced me down and put it around my neck."

Obi-Wan swallowed. Evidently this was a painful subject for him, one not often visited even in his thoughts. He looked up at Anakin.

"I felt you, in the split second before I lost everything. I held on to that moment for years afterwards; it was all I had of you."

He didn't seem to expect a reaction, and Anakin gave none. Obi-Wan continued.

"I think they only intended to sell me as a slave, but of course I passed out when the Force left me, and they thought I was dead. I nearly was, too. They left my body in the desert, thinking that they'd murdered a Jedi. You don't know—"

His voice rose and broke. "Anakin, you—you can't imagine what it was like. I thought the galaxy had died, or it had broken, and I was all that was left of it. I felt blind—worse than blind. I wanted to die, truly I did. Those first few days were…" Obi-Wan actually physically shuddered, and for the first time Anakin felt an emotion other than anger. Instead, pity began to swell in him.

"You could have come back," he said. "You could have taught—there are Knights who can barely touch the Force anymore that still have wisdom—or helped Jocasta Nu—or _something_."

"I did think of it," Obi-Wan admitted, "once I had begun to recover—but could you have seen me sitting idly by, telling others of the adventures they could have and the things they could experience, and having none of it myself? There is no real fate for Jedi who have lost the Force. That was always the Order's failing. And—" He looked almost shamed to continue. "—I did not know if I could face you when we were no longer connected."

"Did you think I would love you less if you couldn't feel the Force?"

"You couldn't have helped it," Obi-Wan replied. "You loved me through our bond, as I loved you."

"But not only through it!" Anakin protested. "You were my father! I would have given anything to see you again, in any way."

Obi-Wan's eyelids flickered warily at this, but Anakin was past that blind fury.

"And—" Anakin had just thought of this "—Force-collars aren't permanent. You could have just taken it off and come back." There was no fate-changing strip of leather around Obi-Wan's neck now.

Obi-Wan laughed a little. "Most aren't," he said, "but they vary. Mine just happened to be the permanent sort." He turned in his chair and moved his head just enough for Anakin to see a small pinpoint of a scar on the left side of Obi-Wan's neck.

"Whatever it is in Force-collars that does the restraining, this one also injects a liquid form of that into its victim. The body doesn't like it, of course—it's unnatural, poison. That's why it leaves a scar, even with a scratch like that. Oh, I took it off easily enough, but other things aren't as easy to remove."

Anakin touched the scar and felt the rough tissue beneath his fingers. Sure enough, there it was—the tiny reason for seven years of separation.

"And after that?" he asked softly.

"After that, all I tried to do was get back to the Temple," Obi-Wan said, turning back. "It was all I could think about. But you have no idea how helpless I felt!" He ran a hand over his face in remembered frustration, and Anakin's heart gave a peculiar leap. After all this time, that had not changed. "I had no ship, no friends, no money—it was all I could do to keep myself alive, day by day. I was so disoriented, but I managed to find my way into a town and, eventually, I found work as an odd-job laborer."

He smiled. "I did see some irony in that," he admitted. "I remember dreading such a thing when I was thirteen, before Qui-Gon was my Master, but after I lost the Force it was my only lifeline."

"And then?" Anakin prompted, for whom anecdotes were little more than a time-waster.

"I was saving as much as I could. No one flies directly to Coruscant from Tatooine, but my plan was to planet-hop until I could get there. After about…" he blew out his breath in thought "…oh, six months, I suppose, I thought I had enough to get somewhere a bit closer to the Core. So I found passage on a freighter to Onderon."

Anakin frowned, not understanding. "At that rate, it couldn't have taken you seven years to get to Coruscant," he said.

"I didn't want to travel too quickly."

"Why not?"

A moment's hesitation. "Because—I wasn't certain of what my body was capable of after losing the Force. Hyperspace can be very hard on humans."

"Ye-es," Anakin said slowly. Something about that answer bothered him, or maybe it was just the medicine gradually taking effect again. "Anyway…"

"Anyway, I spent almost a year on Onderon; I was doing well. I was planning to earn enough for the rest of the way back to Coruscant, and I'd almost done it. And then—did you know there are Mandalorians on Onderon?"

Anakin nodded.

"Well, I didn't. I wish I hadn't learned it. They're a far cry from the honor-bound Mandalorians that used to exist. Now they're nothing but common thugs and slavers."

Anakin couldn't see the connection. "Meaning…?"

Obi-Wan gave him a look, full of fondness and frustration. "You're still sarcastic, I see. Meaning that I got caught in the middle of one of their raids and was captured. They had the same plan as Karan Toi, I suppose, but they actually managed it."

"You were—?"

"—enslaved, yes."

This took Anakin by such surprise that he was at a loss for words for a moment. The idea of Obi-Wan as a slave, or even in captivity, was very strange to him. It went against everything he knew about his old Master.

"How—um—" The words that tumbled out of his mouth were not what he wanted to say and had no purpose. Obi-Wan helped him out, speaking with a carelessness that Anakin knew was practiced. Forceless Obi-Wan might have been, but Jedi pride was not easily forgotten. It could not be easy for him to speak of this, much less to have lived it.

"They sold me to a dealer, who sold me off-planet to a mining corporation on Marbeen. That was—well, I wouldn't have survived if I'd stayed there longer than I did. But fortunately I was sold again when the corporation went bankrupt, to a Iridonian named Kogna. He was a gem cutter, a very skilled one, but he was half blind and twice my age and he wanted to retire. So I did most of his work for him for a good while." Obi-Wan's gaze faded for a second as he looked at something Anakin could not see. "Kogna was a good being. He was kind to me, and very wise, even for one of his species. I was with him when he died." He cleared his throat, and continued.

"Anyway, after that I was free once again, but I was at a loss. I still had no connection to the Force, no money, and no way of getting back to Coruscant. And by that point," Obi-Wan confessed, "my hopes of returning to the Temple were little more than distant dreams. Had I tried—_really_tried—perhaps I could have found a way, but after four years in captivity, I had given up all hope. My head told me that you had forgotten me, that you no longer needed me, and I couldn't bear to be a useless spare part in the Temple. As I said, there is no real use for Jedi without the Force."

"So is that where I am?" Anakin asked. "Marbeen?"

"_Shax_, no," said Obi-Wan with a smile, using an expression Anakin had never heard. "You didn't let me finish."

"So finish."

"Actually, there isn't much more to tell. I set up shop there with Kogna's equipment for another year or so, until the town where I lived no longer needed my services. I'd made enough money to live on for a while, so I found passage here—"

"Here?"

"Dornase Alpha. Stop interrupting. I found passage here. After all that time—" He seemed to be struggling to speak. "I had been on my own for five years, give or take. If I was going to be alone, I wanted to truly be alone. This place—well, you probably didn't see the outside, but it's rather desolate. I arranged for someone from the closest town, three kilometers away, to bring by some food and necessities once a week, and other than that I have been, as I wished, quite alone for the past two years. Other than the weekly delivery droid, I haven't seen another intelligent being in all that time."

Even though Anakin was in pain, it still had to be said. "Are you including the time since you found me in that?" he asked. Obi-Wan laughed aloud, and looked almost surprised that he had done so.

"You can't imagine my surprise when I saw you," he said. "If I didn't believe in the Force, I would have called it a coincidence—but I know that the Force still moves in all things and brings people together for a purpose, though I can't hear its voice any longer. To see you, fallen from the sky, like the answer—" He checked himself, but added quietly, "I did want to see you, just once, though I didn't think it would be possible, before…"

A pause. "Before what?" Anakin asked.

"Before it was too late," Obi-Wan said gently, and that was all he would say. He touched Anakin's forehead, and the Jedi felt sudden languidness wash over him like water. Now that adrenaline no longer pounded through Anakin's body, the painkiller was beginning to take effect again.

Anakin struggled against it; there was still so much he had to know! But Obi-Wan could tell what he was doing and stopped him with a word.

"Your body needs the rest, or you may not recover fully," he said. Anakin protested, his words made feeble by the medication, but Obi-Wan quieted him again. His voice came swimming to Anakin through the encroaching darkness. "I am no hallucination. When you wake up, I will still be here; and I hope to remain here for a very long time—now that I've seen you again."

Anakin fell asleep, allowed himself to succumb to the painkiller's effects. Before he completely lost consciousness, he heard an odd noise from right beside the pillow. Had he been fully awake, he would have realized it meant that Obi-Wan was weeping.

* * *

Minutes passed, and when Obi-Wan had recovered himself, he watched the young man sleeping beside him and felt a peace steal over him that was unlike anything he had felt in seven years. Anakin had been right when he'd said their bond did not exist only in the Force, for even when Obi-Wan no longer possessed the Force he still had ached to see his brother again. 

The peace was soon interrupted; Obi-Wan's mind, ever rational, was speaking to him in quiet and knowing tones. He hated the words it spoke, because they were simple, and cruel, and true.

_But when will you tell him?_

"Later," Obi-Wan answered it, silently. "In time."

_You have no time._

"He came to me through the will of the Force. The Force would not be so cruel as to—"

_He will hate you for the grief you will bring to him. In seven years you have given him nothing but pain and sorrow, and you can do nothing else until your dying day._

"Anakin will forgive me," said Obi-Wan stoutly. "He—he must forgive me. I was never in control of this."

_You will give him hope and snatch it away again. You are cruel. It would have been kinder to leave him on the plateau and let him die—_

"—No, I have time, I have time!"

He hadn't meant to say that out loud, or with that much volume. Anakin, in his drugged and happy sleep, only stirred vaguely at the sound. Obi-Wan watched him breathing.

Whatever happened, he was thankful for this moment.

* * *

When Anakin awoke, he was in no pain at first. Only when he tried to move did he remember that he was badly injured and _Obi-Wan was alive._

He started at the thought, looking around wildly though it hurt him. There was the bed and the chair and the doorway and the wall…but Obi-Wan was nowhere to be found.

A small choking noise burst from his throat, like a bubble popping. It was so hard, too hard, to think…

When he heard a voice at the door, he jumped.

"Do you want breakfast?"

The sound left Anakin feeling faint with happiness. He swallowed and looked up.

"I thought—"

"I'm sure you did," said Obi-Wan, sitting down beside him. "But I told you, didn't I? This is real—though I'm having as hard a time believing it as you." He surveyed Anakin's body with an appraising eye, and murmured, "I had forgotten how powerful a healing trance can be. How do you feel?"

Anakin jerked his brain away from the giddy thought of _Obi-Wan!_ and considered this for a minute. "Sore," he said finally. "But I think…everything's a bit better now."

Obi-Wan nodded. "That's what it looks like," he said. "Here, let me." He got down beside the bed and began feeling Anakin's ribs with an obviously practiced hand. It hurt, but not nearly as badly as it had before, when Anakin had felt as though he were being stabbed every time he breathed.

"A few of them are still cracked," he said finally, "but very slightly. You've healed well in just a day. Your leg still looks bad—"

"What's wrong with my leg?"

"I can't be certain, but I'm fairly sure that you've shattered the kneecap, and pretty well, too. A normal human might be disabled for several weeks; with what I've seen so far of you, you'll probably be walking in two weeks or less."

Anakin had an idea in the back of his mind that there was something very important going on that he needed to be walking for, but it didn't immediately present itself. Obi-Wan began to roll up Anakin's sleeve and apply bacta to a burn on his shoulder.

"So you think in two weeks I'll be back to normal?" he asked. Obi-Wan, instead of answering confidently, gave a weak sort of shrug. Anakin found this very worrying.

"Almost," Obi-Wan told him. "But—the Force can't do everything, Anakin. Your hand…"

"What about it?" asked Anakin. For the first time since the crash he looked down at his hands. The right one looked all right, though a bit singed. But when he turned his attention to the left hand, there seemed to be complications. His fingers were bandaged tightly, leaving only his thumb free, so that he could not see them at all.

Obi-Wan was already unwrapping the bandages, and Anakin was beginning to feel nervous. It couldn't be that bad, could it? The last wrapping came off, and Anakin looked down, more bewildered than anything else.

Those were his fingers, all right, but…there were pieces gone. The top half of his little finger was missing, and his ring finger was just…well, it wasn't there anymore at all. Anakin looked at his mutilated hand, dumbfounded.

"You don't know how lucky you were," Obi-Wan said urgently, as though he felt compelled to convince Anakin of this, as though he felt guilty. "With a crash like that, you could have gotten your head off your shoulders. You were fortunate to lose only two fingers."

Anakin nodded, slowly. "I know…" he mumbled, still looking down. Obi-Wan suddenly leaned forward and covered the damaged hand with his own.

"It'll be all right," he assured Anakin, in the teacher-mentor voice that made it sound as though Obi-Wan were totally in control of the situation. "Now, I think it's only fair that you tell me what's happened to you since I've been gone."

That got Anakin to look up, at least. Still leaning back, he thought. "There isn't very much to tell," he admitted. Obi-Wan smiled.

"Try," he urged.

Somehow, what seemed to Anakin to be a dull and quickly-told story turned into an epic lasting at least an hour. Obi-Wan was a captive audience throughout, asking questions at the slightest detail, and it occurred to Anakin only then just how much Obi-Wan had missed him, had hungered for even the slightest news of his former Padawan.

He was nearing the end of the story now—Obi-Wan had just finished murmuring, "A Master…" to himself, unable to believe the truth and oh, so proud—and the painkiller's fog was gently retreating from his thoughts. Then his mouth spoke the word "Naboo," and Anakin's brain jumped to attention, quivering with horror.

"The weapon!" he said hoarsely. He tried to stand; his feeble attempt was quickly and painfully aborted by Obi-Wan, but Anakin kept fighting, for reasons unknown to his Master.

"Anakin!" said Obi-Wan, bewildered. With a strength an invalid couldn't hope to match (even a Jedi invalid), he finally managed to force Anakin back down onto the bed. He sat back, breathing hard, though it couldn't have been so great of an effort.

In Anakin's desperation, the words of explanation came out quickly, jumbled over one another until even he himself didn't know what he was saying. Eventually he calmed down, but not before Obi-Wan had gotten the gist of it.

"You're telling me," said the ex-Jedi, his voice very low, "that Grievous has a weapon capable of destroying an entire planet in a single blast and half of the Jedi Council held hostage on it?"

Anakin nodded. "And I have to go with them, I have to go back—!"

"Look at you!" Obi-Wan thundered suddenly, standing. "You are in no condition to go anywhere!"

"You said I'd be fine!" Anakin shouted back.

"In two weeks! Are you still as reckless as when I left you?"

"You've still got enough caution for the both of us, so I don't see why that matters."

Obi-Wan looked as though he wanted to reply in the same vein, but thought better of it. Instead, he sank back into his chair, breathless. "Oh, Anakin," he groaned, "I don't have enough energy for you."

The break in the shouting match gave Anakin enough time to consider some common sense and to realize that, no matter the urgency, he simply was in no condition to battle. He sighed.

"At least help me find my lightsaber," he petitioned Obi-Wan. After a moment Obi-Wan took his hand from his eyes and nodded.

"It must be in the wreckage somewhere," he said. "Is there any chance your comm is still working?"

"Definitely not the ship's unit," Anakin said, "and mine—" He blinked, then groped suddenly in his pockets. A second later, an expression of supreme disappointment fell across his face. "I don't have mine either," he said.

"Never mind," said Obi-Wan. "We'll find some other way of getting you back to the rest of the universe. I'll go see if I can find your lightsaber."

"I want to come with you," said Anakin.

"No."

"Obi-Wan—"

"No!"

"_You_ told me never to let my lightsaber out of my sight! I need to go find it."

Obi-Wan looked as though he would like nothing better than to clamp Anakin's mouth shut. "What part of 'you can't walk' are you not understanding?"

"I _can_ walk—if you help me," he amended.

After it was made clear that Anakin would not be dissuaded, Obi-Wan reluctantly conceded. A half-hour later, the Jedi struggled out of the house for the first time, borne up by a make-shift crutch fashioned from a two tall pieces of wood and some leftover bits of cloth. He was white-faced with pain, but shook his head when Obi-Wan offered once more to let him stay inside.

The landscape that met him was flat and harsh, unforgiving of anything that dared to jut up and break its surface. The rocks and soil were a dull, grainy red, and above them a small, dark sun hovered uncertainly between the horizon and the zenith of the sky. In the distance Anakin could see a wall-like group of high boulders that stretched as far as the eye could see horizontally, their long shadows scraping across the plain, and beyond that there was a risen plateau.

"That's where I found your ship," said Obi-Wan, pointing to the table of ground. "I truly don't know if you can make it that far, Anakin."

"We'll see," was all Anakin would say. Without another word he set off, face set grimly. Obi-Wan rolled his eyes and followed.

* * *

It was a good standard hour before they had reached the plateau and climbed up the steep and winding path to the flat top. Immediately Anakin saw the remains of his ship and, ignoring the pain that was now pressing at him from all sides, rushed toward it. 

It was bad. The poor thing had been completely demolished in the fall, so that there was hardly a scrap of metal left welded to another, and what remained had been consumed in the fire. Minor flames, Anakin knew, his lightsaber could withstand, but not an inferno.

Desperate, he dropped to his good knee and began groping in the dirt, hoping to see a glint of silver amidst all the burnt black. His hand grazed a broken shard, and blood sprang to his skin.

"Ah!"

Obi-Wan pulled him back. "Don't go looking blindly in there," he said. "You don't know—'

"Wait, there—I see it!" And Anakin was back on the ground again, but this time he had results. Clutched in his free left hand was his dear, familiar lightsaber hilt, charred somewhat on one side, but still perfectly operational. At the touch of a button the blue beam leapt into being, then died back down into its home.

"Do you want to go back now?" Obi-Wan asked him. Anakin looked at him, squinting through the sunlight.

"I'd rather just rest for a while," he admitted. Obi-Wan shrugged in agreement; they moved away from the wreckage and sat in the dust, Anakin's leg sticking awkwardly out to one side underneath him.

They sat together like that for a good long time. Anakin's mind was a swirl of confusion, jumping from one thought to another as fast as his brain would work. But in the hot, bright sunlight, sitting next to the man he thought he had lost forever, he had no desire to pose any of the questions he still had to Obi-Wan. It was enough, just to be here—as long as his old Master understood something.

Anakin spoke three sentences. "You have to know that I'm not the same person I was when you left. I_had _to change myself when I thought you'd died. The only way I could survive was if I didn't care about you anymore."

Obi-Wan spoke one. "I know."

They stayed there like that for another hour, and watched the sun begin its path downward.

* * *

**Author's Note: I have so much to thank you guys for! Almost every day I get an email telling me that someone else has placed this story on their favorites and/or alert list. Right now, there are 88 people who have marked this as a favorite story, and 120 who are alerted every time it's updated. Also, this is a record number of reviews for me! It really makes me happy to know that people are actually reading what I've been working so hard on. Please don't stop. :-P  
**


	51. No Warnings

When Anakin awoke, every muscle of his body was aching, if not from the fall then from his long trek to the plateau and back.

"I told you it was too hard," said Obi-Wan when he brought in breakfast and saw Anakin wince.

"I'm fine," Anakin told him. "Nothing you need to be worried about."

The food was good, and Anakin ate hungrily. Between mouthfuls he answered the questions that Obi-Wan asked him. Did he have a Padawan yet? Were all his old friends still alive and well? Whatever happened to Karan Toi, anyway?

"We captured him," Anakin answered, "and by 'we' I mean I did. The Senate voted for capital punishment, and he was put down."

"When was that?"

Anakin screwed up his face in concentration. "Maybe four years ago? I forget."

Obi-Wan's breath left him in a swift exhale. "Shax, it's been a long time, hasn't it?"

"Seven years," Anakin said.

"I can't believe—everything's changed," said Obi-Wan, shaking his head. "I suppose I never really thought about the fact that time kept moving outside of my own little world. Here I was, imagining you as a Padawan with a braid in your hair, and now you're a Master at—how old are you now?"

Anakin hesitated before answering, "Twenty-six."

Obi-Wan cocked an eyebrow. "You actually had to think about it?"

In imminent danger of looking very foolish, Anakin scrambled to defend himself. "Jedi don't celebrate birthdays," he said. "You know that."

"But you always did."

Anakin shrugged. "I guess there wasn't much point after you left," he said quietly. Then his eyes brightened. "Do you remember my twelfth birthday, when you took me to the podraces?"

"Of course," Obi-Wan recalled. "That was the first time I'd ever eaten a rat on a stick."

Anakin laughed—it hurt, but he did it anyway. Simultaneously there was a thudding knock on the door. Obi-Wan frowned.

"Must be the grocery droid, I suppose," he muttered, then, turning to Anakin, "I'll be right back."

The house was small enough that Anakin could hear him walking to the door. When it opened with a _swish_, Obi-Wan sounded almost confused.

"Can I help you?"

"I'm sorry to disturb you," said a familiar voice, "but I was wondering if you'd seen a friend of mine."

Anakin couldn't help himself. "Drin!" he shouted. There was a stunned pause, then his friend came rushing through the door toward his voice.

"Oh-thank-the-Force," Drin breathed, kneeling down by the bed. "Anakin, I thought you were dead."

"So did I," Anakin muttered wryly. "Drin, this is—" He stopped, thoroughly overwhelmed once again. The introduction he'd planned died on his lips. "This is Obi-Wan Kenobi."

Drin nodded shortly. "My thanks for caring for my friend," he said. He turned back to Anakin—stopped—comprehension dawned. "Did you say—Kenobi?"

Anakin couldn't keep a broad grin from his face. "He's alive," he told him, hearing the joy spill through his voice. "He never died at all!"

Drin's mission was momentarily forgotten in the face of such a miracle. "Anakin, that's amazing!" he said. He stood to face Obi-Wan again, but this time accorded him a bow, reserved in the Jedi Temple for superiors. "Master Kenobi, it's truly an honor to meet you. After everything I've heard—"

"It's not nearly as exciting to meet me in person, is it?" asked Obi-Wan, his eyes twinkling at the formality he hadn't seen in nearly a decade. Drin, taken aback, was lost for words.

"Um—"

"Never mind," said Obi-Wan, smiling. His eyes grew intense. "From what I hear, there are serious matters at hand for you and Anakin to deal with."

"Ah—yes, yes sir, there are." Drin turned back to his friend, and his expression grew serious as well. "Anakin—things didn't go well after you left."

Anakin's grin faded.

"No one was killed," Drin assured him. "Aside from you, I mean. We couldn't get through, but all ships were brought safely back to Coruscant. Almost everyone thought you were dead, except me. I had to come looking for you. Your ship's tracking signal stopped on this planet, so I looked around until I found it, and then from there, I followed the pathway that led down here. I didn't think I'd be lucky enough to find you so quickly."

"So none of the hostages were rescued?" Anakin asked, losing hope fast.

Drin shook his head. "And Grievous is absolutely _shavved_—excuse me, sir—I mean, he's absolutely furious. He hasn't blown up another planet yet. Some of the Masters think he doesn't have enough power in the hyperspace engines yet to move something that big, and if that's true, we might have a few more days before he attacks again. But after the Jedi retreated, he followed them.

"He's got more ships than you could imagine, Anakin, Star Cruisers and TIEs and Force knows what else. He set up a blockade around Coruscant. No one gets in or out, and that includes me. I'm only here because I never went back. I went looking for you instead."

Anakin was still trying to absorb all of this. "I'm really hoping," he said finally, "that this doesn't mean what I think it does."

Drin looked very uncomfortable. "I think it does," he admitted, with an almost pained expression. "I think—it's just the two of us against Grievous."

Anakin sank back against the wall with a sigh. "That," he said, "is the worst news I've had in a really long time."

"Sorry."

Anakin's prosthetic fist slammed against the mattress in frustration. "There's not even anything I can do to help you," he said angrily. "I mean, look at me! I can barely walk."

Drin looked at him as though for the first time, his lips parted absently, and Anakin knew he was seeing not a human being but simply skin and bone and muscle, bonded together or wounded. "I can fix you," Drin said softly, gazing intensely at his friend. "Some parts…"

His hands wrapped around the bandage on Anakin's knee. A strangled little cry leapt from Anakin's throat before he could stop it. Drin closed his eyes, held the poor broken bones in his hand and willed them to knit together once more and heal. Dimly he heard Anakin's moans of pain as the bones worked themselves around, turning from dust into solid matter once again.

Sweat beaded on Anakin's forehead before it was over, but after what seemed like ages, Drin opened his eyes and stepped back.

"There," he said, breathing hard. "I don't think I've ever done something so complicated, and I don't know how well that will hold up, but you'll be able to walk, at least."

Gasping, Anakin managed, "Thank you."

"Let me look at your chest."

"And let you do that all over again? No thanks."

"Don't be a child, you need this. Sit still."

But this time was much easier, as the damage to Anakin's ribs was a clean break. When it was over, Drin had already moved on, but at the next area of injury was a bit beyond his expertise.

"I can't really re-grow things," he admitted to Anakin. "I don't know if there's anything I can do for your hand."

"Never mind," Anakin replied. "I didn't use those fingers anyway." He pushed himself up and took an unsteady step onto the ground. A nervous grin moved across his face.

"I'm actually doing it," he said happily. "I owe you one."

"Just try not to push it for a few days," Drin said, then added, "Of course, given what we'll be doing, that might not be an option."

"You're a real joy-killer, you know that?"

"Sorry," Drin said again. "So what do you suggest?"

Anakin sighed. He didn't want to be the leader, plan always at hand. He didn't want to save the galaxy, not again. He wanted to sit by Obi-Wan and remember the old days, and think of the days that were yet to come.

"Is your ship in working condition?"

"It's fine," Drin answered.

"Then we'll have to go straight to Grievous," Anakin decided. "I assume he's still in his battle station, so we may have a hard time getting to him."

"Oh!" said Drin suddenly. "I almost forgot. We do have one advantage."

"Please tell me."

"One of our shots damaged a hangar's automatic locking mechanism. It didn't close like they expected it to, but it's absolutely tiny, and in an area of the station that isn't used much, so I don't think they've noticed. They're mostly focused on Coruscant right now, anyway."

"So we actually can get inside?" Anakin asked incredulously. "That's great!" He turned to Obi-Wan. "Master—I'll come back for you as soon as I can."

Obi-Wan had a very peculiar look on his face. Anakin couldn't tell whether he wanted to laugh or not. "I don't know what makes you think that I'm not going with you," he said.

Anakin was lost. "You—you—"

"I can't use the Force," Obi-Wan admitted. "But I'm not utterly useless." He took a step forward. "Seven years I've been waiting, taking every breath, in anticipation of something that I didn't know. This is it, and I will not lose it—or you."

Slowly, Anakin turned to Drin. "Can all three of us fit inside your fighter?" he asked. Drin looked pained at the thought.

"_Barely_," he conceded. "But I guess…"

"Excellent," said Obi-Wan briskly. "I have a blaster—I assume you two have your lightsabers. Let's not waste time."

He disappeared into the next room, and Drin looked with some bewilderment at Anakin, who shrugged.

"He does take some getting used to," Anakin admitted.

* * *

There really were no material preparations to make. Obi-Wan grabbed a blaster, well-modified and sturdy, and Anakin and Drin made certain their lightsabers were working. (They were, of course.) What none of them would admit was their simple reluctance to get up and go, to charge forward on what seemed an impossible mission.

The hyperspace trip was less than a standard hour. Every breath Anakin took felt labored as he sat in the cramped cockpit, and his chest was aching again. The usual thoughts that accompanied the beginning of a mission were strangely lacking. Perhaps he had realized for the first time that he might die, and what he would lose if that happened.

"Leaving hyperspace now," said Drin. The stars trailed back into dots, and Anakin saw once more, so close that it took his breath away, that hideously massive battle station. Its numerous TIE bodyguards were missing.

"They're all at Coruscant," Drin said, reading his mind. "But he has soldiers we might have to deal with once we're inside."

From a very long time ago, Anakin thought of a white oxygen mask on a fire-soaked planet. "The clones," he said. "I remember."

"Some," Drin said, drawing the ship close around the false moon, "but he has some recruits, too. They're only misguided, but he's taken them from planets that the Republic forgot and made them believe that we are the reason for their suffering. The clones I don't mind killing, if it gets to that, but those…" He gave an uneasy shrug, and ceased talking.

"There it is," Anakin said after a moment. Far below them was a hangar unshielded, very small, but it meant the universe to the Jedi in the ship. Without warning Drin sped up, forcing Anakin against the back of the seat, and flew into the hangar. The landing was rough, but it stuck.

"Warn us next time, will you?" asked Obi-Wan, whose head had slammed sideways against the cockpit glass at the sudden acceleration. Drin grimaced and apologized.

As they skidded to a halt, Anakin twitched a finger, and the hangar closed behind them. Now he leapt out, lightsaber ready just to be safe, but as Drin had promised, this area was deserted. Weapon still in hand, he turned a slow circle, mind working furiously.

"Our main objective is still to get to the hostages," he said. "We'll need a transport for them."

"We'll find one," Drin said. "There must be some on here."

"As for Grievous…" Anakin bit his lip. "We can't defeat him, not here, with all his soldiers and droids. We'll have to wait—or else destroy this whole thing with him on it. For now—"

He turned—so swiftly that neither Drin or Obi-Wan saw the action in itself, but only its result—and shot out a hand. Dooku was thrown backwards through the open doorway.

"Your powers have grown since we last met," observed the Sith amusedly, already on his feet again. His eyes raked over the little band, especially over Anakin. "And I see the Council has seen fit to promote you."

"Did you know we would be here?" Anakin asked.

"I did not—but I guessed. When I learned of the malfunction in this place, I knew you would have discovered it as well." His eyes hardened. "I saw you die before me on Mustafar."

"Appearances can be deceiving," Anakin retorted. Beside him, he could feel Drin battling fear.

"Apparently. But believe me when I tell you that I will not be deceived again." Then the lightning that Anakin remembered all too well spit from his fingers, and as battle-roar filled his ears he saw Drin and Obi-Wan fall to their knees. Anakin himself felt the heat of the lightning, heard the sparking, crackling energy, but felt no pain. His lightsaber held before his face, he propelled himself forward with the Force.

He landed directly in front of Dooku, and his injured knee protested violently, but Anakin ignored it as he raised his weapon to strike. It was met with Dooku's own, and golden sparks flashed in the air as they thrummed together.

"What makes you think you can defeat me now, Skywalker?" Dooku hissed. "You have already failed."

He whirled, struck again, then leapt back as Anakin lashed out at him, tight-lipped.

"The Sith cannot be killed."

"Your Master and your apprentice are dead!" Anakin cried, his body ever-moving in the dance of combat. "And now there is only you."

Their lightsabers held for a split second against each other, and in that instant Anakin saw Dooku's eyes widen. He had seen in his opponent's gaze something he had not seen before, and it had frightened him.

In sudden desperation he ceased to battle against Anakin's strength, and sought his weakness instead. Hand outstretched, he sent lightning bolts shooting once more toward Obi-Wan, and the former Jedi collapsed once again, screaming in agony.

"I could kill him!" Dooku shouted, backing away.

"Stop!"

"He will die, screaming in—"

His lightsaber dropped; his defense did likewise, and Anakin dove at his chance. Dooku's tirade ended abruptly as Anakin's booted foot connected hard with his throat, cutting off all oxygen. Gasping and choking, when Anakin's lightsaber came down, the Sith had no defense.

The messily severed head rolled across the floor, and Anakin stepped back, breathing hard. He ran to Obi-Wan.

"Are you all right?" he asked. Obi-Wan's face was very, very white.

"That was…" he began, and stopped. Anakin's heart ached to see him in such pain.

"Come on," he urged, taking Obi-Wan's arm and helping him up. Turning to Drin, Anakin was glad to see that he seemed in control now.

"I'm so sorry," Drin said. "Anakin, if I could have helped—"

"I know how that lightning feels," Anakin said shortly, for lack of breath. "I can't blame you. But we'll have to hurry. Someone will notice he's gone before long. Obi-Wan and I will look for the hostages—Drin, you find a transport."

Drin nodded and left, cloak flapping behind him as he ran down the black-tiled hall. Anakin stayed there a moment, waiting.

"Are you ready to go now?" he asked. Obi-Wan was still pale, but he nodded. Together they set off opposite of the way Drin had gone, alert for any unexpected visitors.

"That was impressive," said Obi-Wan, when he had regained his breath fully. "When did you learn to fight like that?"

Anakin's face seemed momentarily unaware of the seriousness of the situation, because he grinned. "I've been practicing," he told Obi-Wan.


	52. No Time For Weakness

Anakin had never seen a structure like this.

Even as they walked, alert for danger and prepared at every second to fight for their lives, Anakin couldn't help but marvel at the design of it. The size of it was monstrous. How many years had it taken to plan such a thing? How many laborers, how many droids had worked on it through long and endless nights until it was completed?

How long had Grievous been planning this?

"This place is huge," Anakin muttered under his breath. "How are we ever going to find the hostages?"

"I'm afraid I won't be much help to you there," Obi-Wan said. He was stumbling over his own feet enough to make the condition worrisome, but the color had returned to his face and he no longer needed Anakin's arm to keep him upright. "But you can use the Force."

"I can try," Anakin replied, frowning, "but there's something keeping me from them. Windu managed to contact me once already, but he's very weak."

He closed his eyes, and unconsciously held his hands out before him, as though feeling his way in the dark._Master,_ he whispered, _Master, where are you?_

Tendrils of the Force wisped their way down the halls, searching for life. Anakin felt the heartbeat of the occasional guard, steady as a drumbeat if it was a clone and skittering slightly if it was a naturally-born human.

Without warning, like stepping unexpectedly from a drop-off into deeper and darker waters, Anakin's senses stumbled into a pool of misery. Somewhere—somewhere—he could feel them, in pain but still as stone, their thoughts thick and clumsy. It frightened him; if he'd been holding anything, he would have dropped it then.

"I found the Jedi," he said, shaking himself back into reality, "but—" He stopped again, throwing his mind back for an instant. "There are more of them."

Obi-Wan looked confused. "More hostages?" Anakin could only shake his head.

"I don't know," he answered. He knew he had felt the Jedi, but there had been other beings in the Force, beings who were not chained in the same way as the Jedi, and these people were frightened and innocent. "But we have to get to them quickly."

They continued down the hall. Its tight, dark corners made Anakin feel the same way he had when, once, he had gone underwater in a diving ship. He had been young, and watching the water splash up against the windows as they dove had been one of the most frightening experiences of his life then. He could feel that old claustrophobia rising as he walked.

"It's very quiet, isn't it?" said Obi-Wan, echoing what Anakin had been thinking. What was the point of making such a huge ship if there were no one to fill it?

"Drin said that this part is still under construction," Anakin answered vaguely, "but still…" Still…

A wave of menace swept over him, snatching his breath and throwing it away. He stopped in his tracks; they were coming, _they were coming._

"They found Dooku," he breathed. "We have to hurry."

Through the Force he could almost hear the hundreds of footsteps tramping against the cold tiles, white suits of armor with death in their heads. He gulped, groping with his mind and running along the hall, until he found a door that matched the one that the Force was leading him to. It opened under his touch, and then Anakin saw something that took his breath away.

At first glance, the room looked like a med ward, full of patients in bacta tanks. But closer inspection belied the innocent nature of the place. In each tank that lined the wall—and that wasn't bacta, was it?—was not some innocuous patient but a Jedi Knight or Master. Their eyes were shut, their limbs and cloaks floating eerily in the yellowish liquid that, through the Force, gave off an aura of poison.

Anakin's instinctive reaction was to look around, to find Windu. His Master was toward the back of the room, and for a split second Anakin recoiled when he saw him, frightened. This was not the Windu he knew, this still, powerless being with the breath mask shoved into his mouth. But duty overcame Anakin's revulsion. Without considering any possible side effects he let the liquid drain from the tank, and Windu slowly sank to his knees, and then to the floor. Whatever that liquid was, it was that which had been keeping the Jedi unconscious. After a moment, Windu's eyes flickered blearily. He was shivering, dripping wet.

"Can you hear me?" Anakin asked, when he had opened the tank and removed the breath mask. Windu gave a faint nod, and his lips moved as if to speak, but Anakin stopped him. "Save your energy. You'll need it."

Already Obi-Wan was moving about the room, freeing other Jedi from their liquid prisons. They awakened shortly after, still very weak but conscious all the same.

Impatient as Anakin was, he knew that, for now, there was nothing that could be done. He couldn't leave the Jedi here, and they were in no condition to move. For lack of a more useful occupation, he knelt and touched two fingers to the inside of Windu's tank, where a few yellow droplets still lingered.

The Force searched through it, sifting contents and molecular structures. Some of them Anakin recognized.

"What is it?" Obi-Wan asked, coming up behind him.

"It's—" Anakin frowned. "It's like bacta, but it isn't. It's got the same chemical base, I think…but it's more malignant. It's designed to keep people prisoner, not to heal them. And—Grievous's added something else." Concentrating, Anakin couldn't understand why he couldn't find that last ingredient. Then he realized he had found his answer. "It's a Force-blocker. In case they woke up."

"Covering all his bases, isn't he?" Obi-Wan murmured.

Through Anakin's concentration broke Grievous' soldiers once more. They were getting closer. Caught in indecision, Anakin clenched his jaw.

"Master," he said to Windu, whose eyes were beginning to clear. "I know this won't be pleasant, but I need you to get up."

It was an enormous effort, Anakin could see, as Windu's eyes closed and he began to lift himself up. Anakin helped as much as he could, but in Windu's weakened state it was almost like moving an enormous doll. A vein pulsed on the side of the Master's neck, and he gasped.

"Almost there," Anakin promised breathlessly, and then somehow he had managed to shift Windu to his feet. The dark-skinned Jedi hesitated a moment, swaying on the spot. Then his stomach revolted against its treatment, and he vomited without warning. Afterwards, though Windu was still dripping with Grievous' mixture, he looked much better than he had before, and much more coherent.

"So you managed it," he said, when his eyes first focused on Anakin. "I'm not surprised."

The other Jedi followed much the same procedure. Once they were on their feet and had cleared their systems, they were in much better shape. All the while Anakin kept his mind on the army, marching steadily ever toward them. How many were there? Fifty? A hundred? Endless soldiers against nine warriors, only one of them operating at full capacity. Most of the former prisoners were holding onto the sides of their tanks for dear life; their minds had cleared, but their muscles had lain in atrophy for nearly a week now, and they were having difficulty staying upright. The Force seemed to have sent Anakin an impossible task.

_What if I fail?_ he thought dimly. The possibility seemed real to him for the first time. Then that would be the end. This battle, this fight, was all that was left of the Republic.

His mind was alerted suddenly to another presence close by in the Force. Startled, Anakin examined it more closely, and found it to be friendly.

_Here,_ he pathed, leading the way, and Drin came through the door within seconds. The expression on his face became that of extreme relief when he saw the hostages.

"Master!" he cried, rushing to Ka'ela. She seemed to regain life when she saw him.

"Anakin," said Windu, "Listen to me. I can sense that our time is limited."

Anakin turned.

"We are not the only hostages aboard this thing. Grievous kidnapped several dozen Nubians before he destroyed their home. I would rather not risk their lives, but you know as well as I that this battle cannot be lost, and as it stands we are not assured of victory. They can help us fight, if they are freed and properly equipped."

"Can we get blasters for them?" Anakin asked.

"I know there's an armory of sorts near here. I don't know if you can make it in time, but you must try."

Once more Anakin stretched out using the Force. It was only a few seconds before he announced, "It's on the other side of this wall." Without a moment more wasted he stepped forward, pausing only a second to ensure that no one was on the other side, then jabbed his lightsaber through the bulkhead. When the hole was large enough for him to step through, he emerged in the next room to find an arsenal.

Careful not to let anything go off by mistake, he handed over several blasters to Drin through the wall. His mind wandered over the thought of arming the Nubians. Windu was correct in that the Jedi were currently at a disadvantage, but was giving blasters to dozens of untrained, peace-loving civilians the answer? More than likely they would provide nothing but friendly fire.

The Jedi were now well armed, each carrying at least two blasters in addition to their lightsabers. Ka'ela held on to Drin's arm tightly, soaking it; Shaak Ti's lovely face was set with determination; Aelir, his hair plastered to his face, just looked like he wanted to kill someone. Anakin looked at them, and felt nothing strange when his mouth opened and he found himself speaking with authority.

"I know you are weak, but now is not the time for weakness. Call on the Force to sustain you and give you strength. It is for times like these that we are called 'set apart' from the rest of the universe, when we are forced to push ourselves past human endurance." Anakin swallowed—he felt suddenly so vulnerable. But his stony expression never wavered. "This is the last chance, the last battle, the last stand. As of this moment, we here are all there is of the Republic. If we die, so does everything the Republic stands for. So don't hold back, not even for a second."

Then his face changed, to that of utmost abstraction, for a split second. "Go," he said brusquely. "They're almost here."

The Jedi made their way toward the door. Anakin was about to pass through when he felt a hand on his arm. He turned, to see Adi Gallia standing there.

"I was wrong about you," she said humbly, looking up at him. "You will surpass us all."

Then she swept by him, graceful as always.

* * *

It was a hard thing, to know that the planet they loved so dearly was gone.

Pax Ledon, a Nubian hostage, knew that only too well. Each time he closed his eyes the image of Theed palace rose up before him like a condemning omen. His brown uniform only reminded him further of the charge he had failed. Late in his life, he had no wife and no children; his life's only duty was to the Queen, to protect her. But when he and several other random Nubians were unceremoniously kidnapped and herded into this monstrous place, he had no choice but to watch as his homeplanet, his friends, and his Queen were demolished without warning.

The experience had left him drained and wretched. Other refugees still talked of escape, but he—who, with his military experience, might actually have been able to help—only sat alone in the corner, trapped in his shame. He ate, but only to please the others, and they all thought the old man would be dead before their chance came.

If the rest of them ever did find that chance, he would remain here, to die under the hospitality of a murderer.

Then something happened.

That, in itself, was amazing. Since they had all been thrown in this room days ago, they had seen no living faces other than their own, and heard no strange voices. A droid came once a day to deliver food; that was all.

But now, there came a sound, faint and unfamiliar, from beyond the door. Every hostage suddenly ceased their low whispers and gaped at the noise; then a voice—a human voice!—called through the metal, "Stand back!"

Pax and the few near him scrambled backwards on their knees. There was a moment's pause, and then a glowing blue blade thrust suddenly through the steel. One woman screamed; a few knew what it meant.

"The Jedi are here!" someone cried. The circle in the door was growing, until it was large enough for a grown man to step through. Then the round piece of metal was pushed forward, and as it clattered noisily onto the floor, a Jedi stepped through and straightened.

He was very tall, even by Nubian standards, and he was heavily armed. The hostages looked up at him from the floor with frightened eyes.

"We have come to rescue you," said the Jedi, sheathing his weapon. "But—"

His words were drowned out as the hostages shouted for joy. One man ran to the Jedi and fell to his knees before him. Women embraced each other and held their children close; they had all expected death.

"But," said the Jedi again, and this time people listened. "Our assistance comes with a price. I would have preferred that all of you be able to leave immediately, and we have prepared a transport. But we need your help. We need all able-bodied men to stay and fight alongside us."

Eagerly the Nubians agreed, and went to accept their blasters. In the sudden confusion, it was a moment before the Jedi had noticed that Pax remained where he was, in his corner, stubbornly refusing to move.

"I know that your race is unused to violence," said the Jedi softly, "but to let your countrymen fight while you remain in safety is a coward's path."

"I am no coward," answered Pax, flicking his eyes upward to land on the Jedi's face, "and any man who says otherwise will not live to say it again."

The Jedi looked as though he were about to answer when another newly-armed Nubian grabbed his arm and whispered in his ear. The Jedi's expression fell into one of understanding. When he spoke again, his voice had changed as well, taking on a military timbre.

"Soldier, stand up. Your planet still has need of you."

"My planet no longer exists."

"I said _stand!_"

Pax did so, and the Jedi walked toward him, blue eyes flashing.

"I can see by your uniform that you were in the queen's service, is that correct?"

"It is, sir." The respectful address slipped almost unthinkingly from Pax's tongue, and without meaning to do so he found himself standing at attention.

"Queen Apailana is dead, through no fault of yours. But Naboo still requires your service. Your allegiance is not only to the current queen of Naboo, but her predecessors as well, and _only_ a coward would attempt to shirk that duty. When this war is over, you will enter the service of Supreme Chancellor Amidala, former Queen of Naboo. Do I make myself clear, soldier?"

"Yes, sir!"

"Right." The Jedi thrust a blaster into Pax's hand. "Then don't die."

* * *

"Anakin."

"What is it, Master?" Anakin asked, moving from Pax to Windu's side.

"They are very close—we may not even have a minute."

"I know," said Anakin.

"When the fighting starts, you must not be here."

Anakin gaped at his Master. "You can't be serious. No, I won't—"

"Someone has to escort the women and children to the transport and make certain that they will reach safety. You and Obi-Wan must go." A wry little smile appeared on Windu's weary face. "I'll ask about that later."

"Someone else can go," Anakin said fiercely. "Why would you send me? I won't leave you—"

"This is no whim, Anakin," Windu said, in a voice that said he would not be crossed. "The Force is still weak within me, but I know it tells me this. You are not meant to fight here. There is another battle waiting for you and Master Kenobi. Take the Nubians to safety, and the Force will guide you from there."

Anakin looked at his Master helplessly. "Are you certain?" he asked.

"I know it."

"But you need me here."

Windu shook his head. "You are the Chosen One. You must fight in the greater battle. Ours matters nothing compared to yours."

His words filled Anakin with something like fear. He fought it, and nodded, then called, "Everyone who is not fighting, come to me!"

Dark-haired women, some clutching children only a few months old, fled to him. By their demeanor, even as frightened as they were, Anakin was reminded of Chancellor Amidala. One little boy seemed lost, not clinging to his mother but wandering with a crumpled, tearful face. "His mother was killed with Naboo," explained one of the women. Anakin scooped the child into his arms and led the way, calling to Obi-Wan as he walked.

He walked quickly—he did not want to hear the sounds of battle from behind, and feel shamed. Obi-Wan quickly caught up.

"Why are we going this way?" he asked.

"Because Master Windu told us to," said Anakin shortly. He didn't feel like explaining—or rather, in truth, didn't want to believe the explanation.

Drin had told him the location of the transport, but the directions were somewhat confusing. The Nubians murmured, frightened, amongst themselves, but Anakin shushed them, knowing that the group was already making too much noise. Anakin desperately sought to find the third corridor on the right with a big pillar right next to it, while Obi-Wan walked beside him.

"What are we going to do with this thing," he heard Obi-Wan ask, "when everyone's off it safely?"

"I don't know. Destroy it, somehow," Anakin answered, distracted.

"Is there some sort of self-destruct mechanism, do you think?"

"They're evil, Obi-Wan, not stupid."

Obi-Wan gave a terse laugh. "Well, you can't just leave it floating in space for the next maniac that comes along to steal it. Do you have a better idea?"

"You're the Master; why don't you think of something?"

"Actually, I'm a civilian now, and even if I weren't, you'd still outrank me."

Somewhere in Anakin's head, he found this funny, but a laugh never made its way to his mouth because something else had caught his attention.

"Here," he said finally, relieved beyond words. "Come this way."

They followed him into the hangar, and there Anakin saw the promised transport. The women gasped with joy, knowing it meant safety. Still carrying the boy, who was clinging to him for dear life, Anakin boarded and programmed the ship to take the hostages to—he racked his brain for a destination—Sullust.

"When you land," he said, turning to them, "find your way to the Republic's embassy. They'll give you shelter." He handed off the child to one of the Nubians, with some difficulty.

"Do any of you know anything about flying?" Obi-Wan asked. Looking around uncertainly at her companions, all of whom bore the same blank-faced expression, one woman raised her hand. "The ship's been preprogrammed, but if something goes wrong—which it won't—there's a hyperspace map in the ship's computer."

She nodded, and spoke for all of them when she said earnestly, "Thank you, Master Jedi."

"I'm sorry we can't go with you," Anakin said, "but we have other duties here. May the Force be with you."

And then there was nothing but for them to step off the transport and watch, utterly helpless, as the ship closed. With a wave of his hand Anakin opened the hangar doors, and the transport was gone.

A sizeable weight seemed to have fallen from Anakin's chest, though others still remained. He took his first deep breath in several hours.

"Now what?" asked Obi-Wan.

"Now we go back and fight," said Anakin. He turned to leave the hangar.

Then the lights went out.

Stupefied, it was a moment before Anakin thought to ignite his lightsaber. The blue glow, eerie in the darkness, cast its light upon the metal floors and walls without seeing anything out of the ordinary. Obi-Wan had moved instinctively toward Anakin, turning so they were back to back.

A voice spoke out of the darkness, hoarse and angry.

"Did you think to take me by surprise?"

Anakin whirled sharply, but even as he moved to leap forward toward Grievous' voice a blast of blue light shot out of the darkness, missing him by more than a few inches. He heard a noise behind him, a soft, surprised grunt and the sound of a body falling to the floor. Fear coiled swiftly around his heart; he stumbled, and turned—

"No!" Grievous screeched. "Do not turn!" Without warning a giant weight pounced upon Anakin's chest like a hammer, throwing him to the floor and stunning him for an instant. His lightsaber slipped from his fingers and rolled away from him. Through dizzy eyes he could see that mask, those spider legs, those hideous eyes, pinning him to the floor, glaring down at him with hatred unmatched.

"This is your fight and mine," Grievous hissed. "There will be no help. Only you, Master Skywalker, and me."

With an enormous effort, Anakin threw him off and scrambled across the floor for his lightsaber. It seemed an eternity before he reached it, expecting to be attacked from behind every second. At last his fingers closed around it, reassuring familiarity, and Anakin jumped to his feet in battle stance.

As his eyes adjusted, he could see Grievous, standing still across the room. His eyes were almost smoking with hatred, and in each of his four mechanical hands he held a weapon. Three of them were long, deadly vibro-shivs. The fourth was a lightsaber, piercing green.

"Fight," the monster commanded him.

And Anakin, with a cry of anger that echoed around the room after being pent up for years and years as he had helplessly watched Grievous kill and lie and destroy, flew at him.

Grievous met him with the green blade. He had no technique, no Jedi balance, but only a vicious desire to kill, so the lightsaber whirled and spun haphazardly in the air and Anakin was hard-pressed to avoid it. They circled each other like dogs, snapping at one another in the street with foam-lathered mouths.

Anakin blocked, left, right, dodge, but Grievous held an advantage with his four blades, so that Anakin could hardly escape one, whirling between their scathing edges, before he was forced to evade another. Eventually he had to miscalculate, and eventually he did. When his lightsaber parried the green, he failed to watch, and he slipped—

—a vibro-blade pierced the skin of his shoulder, and he gritted his teeth—

—a hand reached up, strong as death, and grabbed him by the throat, and threw him backwards with all the force in his body. Anakin flew through the air until he slammed into the wall with a sound that echoed through the hangar, and then slid down to the floor. He could barely stand, his hand was stunned, he couldn't reactivate his lightsaber and Grievous was upon him—!

The monster's cloak swirled around the both of them, like darkness, like death, as Grievous easily bore Anakin to the ground. The droid arm, like a vise, pinned the Jedi against the wall, crossed over Anakin's throat and _pressed_.

Anakin gasped as he felt his windpipe being crushed. He fought, pulling at the arm that was strangling the life out of him. Grievous pressed harder, cruelly. Anakin's struggles were growing weaker; he was dying, he was dead, for darkness was already coming.

Just before Anakin lost consciousness, the arm was removed.

There was a split second then, in which Grievous stood back and Anakin fell to all fours, choking and sputtering inhaling as deeply as he could. In that one second, Anakin realized that Grievous would not kill him, not yet. It would be a while. It would be a slow death, drawn-out and agonizing, until Anakin himself would beg for the final deed. It would be torturous, as though Grievous was somehow repaid for all Anakin's trouble by his pain, as though agony could be bartered back for irritation.

"I won't die like that," Anakin heard himself say. His voice sounded very strange.

"You will die as I will have you die," spat Grievous, and grabbed for him again.

Anakin was ready, weak as he was. His lightsaber flashed true, and a vibro-shiv fell to the ground, clutched in a severed mechanical arm. Grievous let out a howl, of pain or rage, and dove at the Jedi like a cat upon its prey.

Once more they were caught in the whirling fray, but this time Anakin had a plan. Running on renewed strength, he fought with a fierceness that he had lacked before, and Grievous, not expecting this, was forced to move backwards. If he could get Grievous to trip, lose his balance, even lose focus for an instant, he could disarm him again. He pressed his advantage, watching for the moment.

It came! Anakin darted forward and sliced through the hilt of the green lightsaber, leaving it a useless stump. Then Anakin moved to step back, to return triumphantly to his stance, but even as he attacked Grievous had been preparing, and then—no, no, NO!

Time seemed to have slowed, and all Anakin could see was the silver blade rising in his way, and there was nothing he could do, nowhere he could move, as it came cutting through metal and steel and precious ilum crystal. He almost cried out in shock when he saw his lightsaber, his heart's weapon, lose its bright beam and fall, dead, to the ground.

He did not even think to defend himself. Grievous snatched the brightly sparking lightsaber hilt from Anakin's fist and kicked him backwards, and once more Anakin landed on his back. Grievous sprang forward, catlike again, to pounce upon Anakin's chest like a carrion bird. The lightsaber end was still shooting off sparks, hot, blue, confused bits of fire that didn't know where they belonged. With a horrible laugh, Grievous thrust Anakin's own hilt into his eyes and let the sparks fly.

Anakin screamed, and screamed, and still the pain came, rushing onward through his system in hot, angry bursts of light. His eyes were burning, they were on fire, he couldn't breathe through such pain. Dear Force, let me die, let me die, no more no more STOP IT!

When the fire finally ended Anakin could see nothing. Whether his eyes were no longer capable of sight or whether the skin around had merely swollen, he didn't know. He lay, limp, on the ground, as remnant waves of pain still washed over him. The pleading thought, _Kill me,_ hung vaguely in his mind.

"What did you think, Master Skywalker?" breathed the mask in his ear. Behind the words Anakin could hear him cackling victoriously. "Did you think you could play the hero again?"

Grievous gave no warning, but the Force did, as the vibro-shiv came plunging downward to strike into Anakin's unseeing eye into his brain. One last hope, the Force breathed into his mind, and Anakin's arm shot upward as the Force commanded.

He felt the shiv bite into his arm, tear a chunk of flesh from bone, but he was still alive.

Gathering all the strength he possessed Anakin threw Grievous off him once more and stood warily. Blinded, he moved backward until he felt his back press against the bulkhead. Ordinarily this was a disadvantageous position, but now there was no chance of Grievous sneaking up on him from behind.

"You are so determined to live, Master Jedi," Grievous snarled. There was no more playing now. "Why is that?"

Anakin had better things to do than answer. In wonderment, he realized for the first time in his life how easy it was to see. He felt as though he were in some sort of bizarre simulation, in which all was dark except for the blade that attacked you, which glowed. When it came toward him, Anakin _knew_, surer of its location than if he had seen it with his eyes. He thrust out his arm again, and though more blood dripped down his sleeve he scarcely noticed the pain. He was beyond pain—he was above it.

The vibro-shivs came at him in a furious flurry, Grievous madly attempting to take Anakin by surprise. But it could not be done. Though he had no shield, though he bled with every blow, the Force loved its son, its Chosen One, and lent him strength and sight.

But inside, within the deepest of his heart, Anakin was weakening swiftly. He could feel his energy draining out through the wounds, feel his hands sticky with red blood. A stunning blow toppled him to his knees, where he painfully shielded his head. He didn't know how much longer he could stay conscious.

"Master!" he shouted, hoarse. "Help me!"

No help seemed coming. Then Anakin, as though from a distance, heard the sound of a blaster shot, and the blow he was waiting to block never came. He sagged against the wall, ready to black out, when he heard Obi-Wan mutter the words, "So uncivilized," and then suddenly there were arms around him, holding him very tightly.

"Are you all right?" Obi-Wan asked him, "Are you all right? Oh, Anakin, your eyes…"

Thickly he managed the word, "Grievous?"

"Dead."

With a great effort Anakin wrenched himself back into reality. "Then it's over," he said.

"Yes," said Obi-Wan's voice. "Yes, Anakin, it's over. Come on, stand up, I know you can. We have to get you out of here—and Anakin, I…"

His voice faltered and seemed almost to die. Anakin thought for a second that Obi-Wan had passed out, for some reason, but then he felt his Master lift him up to his feet. Anakin didn't want to walk. He didn't want to move ever again. But with each step he felt Obi-Wan beneath him, rock-like, lifting him up and holding him steady. And with each step Anakin grew a little bit stronger, until he could stand on his own.

At last, after eternity, Anakin felt a presence and heard a voice from ahead. "Anakin! Force, Anakin, what happened to you?"

When Windu spoke, Anakin lost all strength he had and sank to the ground. He was safe now, wasn't he? No need to keep trying, not anymore, and he was so tired…

"Drin's here, Anakin," said Windu. "He'll do what he can. Hold still."

Hold still? He barely had the will to put one foot in front of the other. Anakin felt the familiar hands upon him, touching the burnt and blistered skin near his eyes. Then he felt a surge of Force-life through him. Though he couldn't see it, he could imagine the skin twisting itself back to normality, the charred red fading back into tan. Now that all was being healed he could tell that his eyes indeed had been burned, but not so badly that they could not be fixed. When he opened them, it hurt, but it was only the sudden light that pained him.

"Give me your arm," said Drin next, but Anakin pulled back.

"That's not important," he said. "I can make it to the Temple." Drin's hand touched his, and through the connection Anakin felt something besides raw healing coming from his friend. He focused on Drin's face. "What's wrong?"

Drin's eyes fell downward. "M-my Master was killed," he whispered, tears behind the voice. "Ka'ela Brun. She was lost in the fight."

Anakin sucked in a breath. "Drin, I'm so sorry." He reached out to his friend.

"What happened to Grievous?" Windu asked urgently. Anakin frowned, feeling, somehow, as though Windu's abruptness was an offense to Drin's grief.

"He's dead," Anakin said again. "Can we go?"

Windu looked as though he very much wanted to say something else, but valiantly refrained. Instead, he bent down and offered his hand to Anakin, who took it but stood on his own.

"I'm going to be okay," he said. The edges of his voice were still thick, but his head had cleared.

"The others are looking for another transport," said Windu. "With Grievous gone, they shouldn't have much trouble now."

So they started walking, the four of them. Windu and Anakin walked side by side, at the head of the little group. Drin trailed behind, lost in quiet grief, and Obi-Wan…

Anakin didn't realize that he hadn't seen Obi-Wan standing before him in a while until he felt for his lightsaber and found it missing, and then everything else that was missing jumped to mind.

He turned. Obi-Wan was standing back a ways in the hall, stock still. Worried, Anakin ran back.

"Obi-Wan—" he began.

Obi-Wan's face was sheet white, and his eyes were glassy and unfocused. His lips parted, as though he were about to speak. Then he dropped, suddenly, as though his legs had been cut out from under him, his eyes wide open and staring at nothing.

"Master! OBI-WAN!" Fear seized Anakin in a vise grip. He found himself kneeling, grabbing Obi-Wan roughly and lifting, as though he could force his old Master to his feet. Blood from Anakin's arms was smearing all across Obi-Wan's tunic, and nothing happened—_nothing happened_—

"Help me!" Anakin begged, but already Drin and Windu were by his side. Without hesitation Windu bent down.

"I can carry him," he said. Anakin made as if to protest, but Windu silenced him with a look. Then he hoisted Obi-Wan onto his shoulders, and they set off once more.


	53. And Goeth Into The Night

Every step Anakin took seemed to kill him, seemed numb and imaginary, as though his feet never really touched the floor. With every step he looked over at Obi-Wan's limp form and thought, _No, not now, not yet._

At last, though Anakin could not have said exactly how, they found the other Jedi in a nearby hangar. Obi-Wan was rushed inside the waiting transport, Anakin following anxiously, unaware of the stares of the others.

He expected something to happen when Windu had laid Obi-Wan down upon the first empty bed they came to, but nothing had changed. Still as death, Obi-Wan lay there, and so Anakin stayed, even after the rest of the Jedi had come aboard and he felt the ship take off.

The whole experience had a nightmarish quality to it, something that was so horrible and confusing that it could not be real. One minute Obi-Wan had been walking beside him, and the next—Anakin shuddered, thinking of that supremely blank expression on Obi-Wan's face, as though there were nothing else in the universe or in all of existence that mattered anything to him.

"Anakin?"

As soon as he heard his voice Anakin turned to Obi-Wan, looking down at him with all fear and love in his face.

"I'm here," he said. "What happened to you?"

Obi-Wan's face was still very pale. He swallowed, and when he spoke his voice was faint.

"I'm—I'm so sorry, Anakin. It would have been kinder—to have never seen you again."

Anakin's hands were clammy and cold, but he took Obi-Wan's fingers in them anyway. Tears stung his eyes and his throat. "Don't say that, don't, it isn't true. Why would you say that to me?"

A great sigh came rolling out from Obi-Wan. He spoke quickly, as though he knew his time was short.

"I took the collar off—all those years ago—but the poison remained. I don't know what it was, or whether it was meant to do this to me. But my body is growing weaker with every day that I go on living, Anakin, with every little thing I do, with every breath I take. Some days I didn't have the strength even to get up in the morning.

"All this, what I've done today—with you—is more than I have done in several months past. And now…" A flicker of pain crossed his face, a shadow. "Now I think it's over. I have no energy; I have nothing in me. Everything I had left, I gave to you today."

Words floated past Anakin's conscious but didn't take hold. They floated in his mind, words like "poison" and "weak" and the unspoken one, "death." But they were for someone else, Anakin thought blindly. They were not for him, they did not belong to him. Weakness and death could not intrude upon him and Obi-Wan.

So why was Obi-Wan's face so pale?

They were true, weren't they?

They were true.

Anakin moved a hand to wipe his burning eye and found that his cheeks were already wet. "Why didn't you tell me?" he managed.

Maybe Obi-Wan didn't want to answer him; maybe he was too tired to reply. But there was no answer, and that simple fact made Anakin angrier than did the thought of Obi-Wan's death. Suddenly furious, he stepped away. "Why didn't you tell me?" he shouted again at the invalid. "Why did you let me think that you were coming back, that everything would be all right again? _Why_ did you let me think I'd _found_ you?"

His voice cracked, and he was fully in tears now.

"The Force can't take you away from me! This isn't fair! Not again—not again—"

He was sobbing, kneeling on the floor, and Obi-Wan's arms were around him, comforting him as they always had done. The words "not again—not again" came from his lips like a mantra.

"Don't say such things," Obi-Wan whispered to him. "You know what anger can do to a Jedi. Trust in the Force."

Anakin jerked out of the embrace as though he had been stung.

"Don't talk like that," Anakin commanded through his tears. "Any Jedi Master in the Temple can tell me the same thing. Talk to _me_, Obi-Wan."

A long, slow breath left Obi-Wan's lips; his eyes searched Anakin's face, as though looking for the words Anakin wanted to hear. There was so little time left—so little time…

"You—" Obi-Wan said, his crystalline eyes wet. "You were my brother, Anakin. I loved you."

Then his eyes moved downward, and, for the first time, he saw the crystal Anakin wore around his neck. He knew it was his, as surely as he knew he was dying. One trembling hand reached out to touch it…

His finger stroked the crystal's edge lovingly. Then, like a wilting plant, it fell and went limp, and there was no life within it.

Anakin burst into tears once again, burying his face in the rough blanket on the cot. Obi-Wan was dead—this time for real.

* * *

When Windu left the cockpit and entered the central room, Anakin was waiting with the rest, and his face gave no indication of his feelings, whatever they may have been.

"I've just spoken with the Chancellor," Windu announced. "She extends her deepest thanks. She's also informed me that the blockade has dispersed since Grievous' death." This news was met with little surprise from the Jedi in the room. "Anakin, may I speak with you in private?"

Anakin shrugged and stood. Together he and Windu moved into the side hall.

"Where is Obi-Wan?" Windu asked in a low voice. Anakin blinked.

"He's dead," he said, his voice utterly, suspiciously normal. "Poisoned. Still, two casualties for a mission of this magnitude isn't a bad number."

"Anakin, are you all right?" asked Windu, frowning.

Once more Anakin gave a little shrug. His blue eyes were sharp as ever, but they didn't seem to be focused quite right.

"You think I should be grieving," he said. "But, Master, I can't. I've already grieved once. To find something you've lost, even only for a short time, is a blessing from the Force."

"But you aren't happy either."

"No," said Anakin quietly.

Windu was almost frightened as he looked at his former student. It was like looking into a black hole, if such a thing were possible. In a harsher tone of voice than he had used in many years, he demanded, "Well? Say something!"

"I'm not happy. And I'm not sad. Maybe I'm nothing. Isn't that right? Isn't that what Jedi are supposed to be?"

Windu had no answer for him. Anakin was right, after all, in theory, but you only needed to look into his eyes to see that this wasn't the way things were supposed to be. No normal human had those eyes. For the first time in his life Windu, for an instant, questioned whether the Jedi way would not kill those who practiced it wholeheartedly. Was peace truly the opposite of emotion?

"Don't worry about me," Anakin said, sensing his thoughts. "No more suicide attempts." He actually smiled a little bit when he said that, a wry little smile, as if to say, 'Look at me, I'm not a droid. I _am_ still capable of emotion.'

He walked out of the room to join the rest of the Jedi once again. As he passed, Windu cast out with the Force, searching for the secret of Anakin's behavior in his mind. A second later, he was hurled back so forcefully that he almost physically stumbled. The walls Anakin had thrown up were like fortress protections; there was no getting through them.

* * *

Anakin was confused.

He was waiting for the grief of last time, of seven years ago, when the pain had almost killed him. Not that he _wanted_ it. He just didn't understand where it was.

He thought there was some way he was supposed to feel about this. The first time had been—excruciating, but it had been natural. This just felt…empty. No, that wasn't the right word, though it was close.

He had thrown up walls of protection to keep others outside, not to keep his own emotions from himself. Anakin was determined to find something within himself; this blankness scared him. So he closed his eyes, and breathed, and let the Force flow through him. When he was younger, he had to search for the Force, focus on it, concentrate like a child making a birthday wish. Now he had only to let it in; it was already constantly pushing at him.

Time passed by him, wind-like, but Anakin didn't feel it. They were less than an hour from Coruscant when he finally opened his eyes, understanding.

As a young, arrogant Padawan, he had believed that grief existed only through its outward signs. If there were no tears, no signs of anger, then there was no sadness, so he thought. Even to himself he had applied this dictum.

Now he was older. Now he was able to look deeper within himself, to see there what he didn't think existed. Somewhere within Anakin Skywalker, so deep that even he himself could not see it at first, was a deep black well of sorrow and aching. It was hidden behind fortress walls and Jedi proverbs and the cloak of maturity, but it was there still. It had only been so hard to see because it did not visibly manifest itself. This, Anakin recognized, was how a Jedi Master mourned.

* * *

Though everyone had slept on the ship, it was still with great relief that they reached the Temple, ready to pile into their beds. This, however, could not be done right away. Firstly, an announcement was made to the rest of the Temple, in which Master Yoda and Master Windu explained the events that had taken place and their expectation of the Jedi in this difficult recovery time. Anakin stood to the side, well out of the public eye, waiting for the second part of the evening.

He hadn't been up to the cremation chamber in years, not since ridding himself of the dark and childish clothes he'd once worn, but he went now, when darkness fell, along with the rest of the Council. Drin was there as well, but for his own Master.

The bodies were laid upon the stone table, one at a time. Anakin looked over at Drin as Ka'ela's body burned, and saw a very tense expression on his friend's face. A vague comforting thought through the Force was all it took to grab Drin's attention, and make him smile.

Then it was Obi-Wan's turn.

He was laid upon the table, his arms unnaturally stiff at his sides. A thought crossed Anakin's mind that it was better than if they had been crossed over his chest, as some cultures buried their dead. He might almost have laughed to see Obi-Wan like that.

His eyes were closed; that Anakin regretted. He would have liked to be able to see his Master's eyes again. But maybe it would only have made it worse, to see the blankness in them and know that there was no soul behind them.

Someone stepped forward with the torch, and Anakin almost cried out.

_You took me when I was nothing,_ said his mind's voice.

_You taught me and trained me._

_You loved me and made me what I am._

_And if I had been there to defend you, I never would have lost you that day._

_I would have died to save you._

_They took the Force from you._

_They killed you._

_But they can't erase you, or what you did, or what you meant—to me._

_You were my father, Obi-Wan, my father and my brother and my friend._

_I worshiped you._

_I loved you._

His vision cleared; perplexed, he saw that the pyre remained unlit. Then he realized that he had been speaking out loud, and every Jedi in the room was looking at him, not with embarrassment or pity but with understanding, and something like awe.

The torch bent its flaming head down, valiantly staving off the darkness, and dipped into the pyre. With a loud sound like wind blowing the flames burst into being, and Anakin watched quietly as Obi-Wan burned.


	54. We Love to Know That We Are Not Alone

The next few days were filled with the clean up of Grievous' galactic mess; one task, in several, was the relocation of the Nubians from Sullust. Anakin was under no obligation to go, and was fully aware of the fact, but thought it would be better if the women, after so much trauma, saw a face they could recognize. That was what he told Windu, anyway.

As Anakin had instructed them, the Nubians had made it to the Republic embassy, helped by those who had heard of their planet's destruction and were sympathetic. He found them in the embassy apartments, clean and well-fed but still anxious. They were obviously relieved at the sight of him, knowing that something might actually get done now.

The motherless boy was still with them, but he looked much less lost now. He smiled shyly at Anakin when their eyes met, finger lodged firmly in his mouth.

Anakin found the woman to whom he had given the boy and asked, "Does he have any relatives he could live with?"

She shook her head. Her voice had in it the faint Nubian lilt that made the words sound almost musical. "His mother was a friend of mine," she said, "and I never heard her mention any kin."

Anakin felt disappointed. He didn't want to send this child to an orphanage, where his future would be likely unhappy and never certain.

"Excuse me, Master Jedi—" The woman, talking at his peripheral, gave a vague little half-curtsy, not knowing what courtesy to afford a Jedi. Anakin, with an effort, gave her his attention. "Nenno—the boy—he's only a bit younger than my own daughter, and they get along well. If he has no home…perhaps I could take him? I swear to you I'd raise him as if he were my own son."

Anakin, surprised at her generous offer, felt no deceit or selfishness in her words. There was only simple, blank earnestness, as he had come to expect from most Nubians. Theirs had been a beautiful race—the last victim of Grievous' rampage.

"Yes, that would be acceptable." He found himself taken aback, searching for words. "That's very…very kind of you."

Her eyes smiled. "I only do my duty, sir, and what I think is right."

"What about you? Do you have anyone you can stay with, any money?"

"We'll manage. I have family on Alderaan."

"Then I'll see you get there safely," said Anakin.

Though it took some time, he eventually managed to speak with the rest of the refugees. Most had family on some planet or another that they planned to stay with, and one fortunate woman's husband had been off-planet on business during the explosion, and would be joining her here on Sullust soon.

Some women were going as far as Muunilist, and these Anakin felt obliged to escort. He was uncomfortable with the idea of shoving them into a transport and leaving them to fend for themselves. However, a comm from Windu interrupted his altruistic plans.

"The Chancellor has requested your presence back on Coruscant immediately."

"Why?" asked Anakin, immediately alarmed. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing. Quite the opposite, in fact. She has decided that what the Republic needs now is a formal announcement of peace. That means a ceremony." In Windu's next words Anakin could hear the tactfully restrained disapproval of this idea. "She'll be honoring all of the Jedi who were taken hostages, myself included—but especially you."

Anakin searched for an excuse. "But I have to stay here, to help."

"There's nothing there that needs your immediate attention anymore—and besides, Anakin, this is important."

"Do I have to?"

"Yes."

So Anakin flew back to Coruscant, to the Jedi Temple. Grievous's blockade having fallen after his death, it was an easy matter. Drin was waiting for him.

"Did you hear about the ceremony?" Drin asked him as soon as they saw each other. His excitement was obvious. "Chancellor Amidala herself is going to be commending us!"

Anakin, having spent more hours than he could count with Amidala, had forgotten that this was not a common experience. If he thought way back to his days as a Padawan, he could vaguely remember the excitement he had felt at meeting the leader of the free universe.

"Yeah, I heard," he said, trying—for Drin's sake—to infuse some enthusiasm into his voice. "So when is this thing, anyway?"

Drin looked at him. "It—it's today. We're actually supposed to be leaving just as soon as the Masters are ready. Didn't Master Windu tell you?"

"Oh." On Sullust, when Anakin had left, the sun had only just begun to set, which meant that Anakin's biological clock was way past its bedtime. He had been hoping for a day or two to recover from—from everything. Apparently that was not to be offered.

"Come on," said Drin, a giant grin still decorating his face. "I want to hurry."

* * *

The ceremony was not held in the Senate Chamber, as Anakin had expected. (Privately, he held a belief that Amidala left that place only once every few years.) Instead, it was at a place Anakin had never been before, the home of a Rodian diplomat who had volunteered his dwelling for this occasion. Anakin soon figured out why they had chosen this location, rather than a public place; attached to this house, overlooking kilometers of empty space (a rare thing in Coruscant, and considered a beautiful view) was a wide balcony.

The number of sentients here took Anakin's breath away. The crowd stretched as far as the eye could see, thousands of Coruscantians who only wanted to see their saviors. The thought that this was only a fraction of Coruscant's population was enough to make his head spin. They were chattering amongst themselves, excited, as Amidala stepped out onto the balcony, followed by an aide carrying a sizeable wooden box in his arms. The Jedi followed shortly, standing in a line. Anakin was at the far right, next to Windu.

Even before Amidala opened her mouth to speak, five cam-droids had zoomed up to her, recording her every move. Anakin knew that this event would be great press fodder; what he didn't know was that it was being broadcast, live, all over Coruscant.

"Citizens of the Republic!" cried Amidala joyfully, and the crowd cheered, sending up momentous noise. She waited a moment for them to calm, and then began her speech.

"Citizens: look at the ground on which you stand. It belongs still to the Republic, to freedom and to democracy! Look at your wrists—there are no chains there! Were it not for a brave few…"

At that very moment, another gray cam-droid zoomed up from the crowd and perched itself on the balcony railing, and then—pointed itself at Anakin's face. At first he couldn't believe it—the stupid thing was deliberately ignoring the Chancellor and recording him. Who, when the Supreme Chancellor was making a speech which would be remembered for years, would bother recording a nameless Jedi?

He shot it a glare. It didn't budge—hardly surprising. Its owner was probably having a laugh right now. Anakin was tempted to twitch a finger and sent the thing toppling from its perch, but decided against it. No one could prove it hadn't been an accident, but still, better not.

He tried to refocus his attention on Amidala's speech. She was describing now the battle against the clones on the station, and this was a part Anakin wanted to hear, having been absent from that fight. He rallied his self-control and ignored the droid.

"But victory rarely comes without a price. It is my deepest regret to say that Jedi Knight Ka'ela Brun was killed in the ensuing battle. She gave her life, but every one of these Jedi would have done the same if necessary, to protect—"

What the kriff? Suddenly there was another droid sitting next to the first. Both of them stared, unblinking, at the daunted Jedi before them, unfazed by his annoyance.

Now Amidala had finished her speech. The aide came forward and opened his box, revealing a glittering array of golden medals hung from purple ribbons. In turn she moved toward each Jedi, starting at the end opposite Anakin, and the respective Jedi bowed his or her head as she placed the medal around their neck. The crowd applauded enthusiastically.

When she got to Anakin, she stopped.

The enormous crowd beneath her hushed; her dark blue robes of state swirled around her feet as she turned to face them. Bewildered, Anakin looked over at his Master, expecting to see the same confusion in his face, but Windu was smiling.

_Didn't I tell you?_ said the Master. _Your fight was greater than ours._

"Even as Nubians and Jedi battled side by side," said Amidala, "Jedi Master Anakin Skywalker, the Chosen One of the Force, was locked in a struggle with General Grievous himself."

The people below her gasped.

"Alone, Master Skywalker fought against Grievous with all of his might, strengthened with righteous anger. He had only one blade, while Grievous had four, but still he held the advantage, until Grievous destroyed Master Skywalker's weapon and blinded him."

Two thoughts flashed, almost simultaneously, through Anakin's mind.

_My lightsaber. I miss it. I should make a new one. _and

_Alone? No, I wasn't alone. I had Obi-Wan._

Amidala had her audience's full attention now. Her every word rang in the silence as she cried, "But even without his sight, he fought on against Grievous. Bewildered, the General tried repeatedly to strike down his enemy, but his evil was useless against the might of the Force that lived in its Chosen One! In the end…" she paused for effect "…there could only be one outcome."

Anakin expected polite applause once more, but utter silence covered the air. Slowly, Amidala took the last medallion from her aide and turned to Anakin. Her dark eyes met his with words pouring out of them.

"I owe you everything," she said, so quietly that no one else could hear. The heavy gold weight of the medal landed on his chest. And then—in a gesture so swift that Anakin knew it was unrehearsed—she fell to her knees before him.

As though someone had flipped a switch, suddenly there was sound everywhere, shouts and cheers and the sound of a million hands applauding, and there was something different in that sound from all of the other times the crowd had reacted. The story was better than anything they had seen in the holo-vids, but their cheers went so much deeper than that.

Every last sentient being in that field knew and believed that without this man standing before them, the universe as they knew it would have changed. If Grievous had suddenly, magically appeared at that moment, Anakin would not have had to lay a finger on him before he died. Anakin belonged to Coruscant; he had saved them, and they loved him for it, adopting him and shielding him.

It seemed as though the noise would never die, that he would stay caught in this moment forever, feeding solely on the adoration of those he had sworn to defend. But Windu was motioning at him with an odd, scooping gesture, and Anakin realized suddenly that Amidala was still on her knees. Bending down, he helped her up, and gradually the applause died away.

Then there was nothing to do but go home.

* * *

It felt like the end, but it was only two days later that Amidala contacted Anakin once again with a favor to ask.

"I've been consulting with my advisors," she said, her holo-image flickering, "about the fate of Grievous' weapon. It isn't easily disposed of, given its size. But eventually we decided that a series of set detonations should destroy it."

"That sounds like the best course of action to me," agreed Anakin, who was sitting on the end of his sleep couch with one boot in his hand and the other one halfway across the room. He couldn't reach for it without looking rude, and he didn't understand what this had to do with him.

"I've already spoken with one of Coruscant's top demolition experts, and he's assured me that he and his men won't have a problem with it. But I feel I should be there, to see it destroyed for myself. And…" She almost sounded shy. "I was hoping you would come with me, Master Skywalker. I need a Jedi to come with me, for protection, and to help me ensure that it gets done, and you have been on the station before. I thought…"

She trailed off vaguely; it was a moment before Anakin realized he was supposed to answer.

"Of course, milady," he said. "Of course I'll come. Just tell me when."

"Tomorrow," she told him, a smile flitting across her face, "at noon, Coruscant time. Can you meet me there?"

Anakin nodded. "I'll see you then, Chancellor," he said, inclining his head. He couldn't be sure, but through the fuzzy blue lines he thought he saw her blush.

The next day found Anakin asleep in his starfighter. He was dreaming: not unusual for any human, but Anakin found it comforting that the nightmare no longer awaited him when he slept. There were no visions of Naboo's destruction anymore, just the simple nonsense that most people experienced.

The sound of gentle beeping broke him out of sleep. Anakin looked around, groggy, before remembering where he was and what the beeping meant. Reaching out, he pulled himself out of hyperspace, and Grievous' weapon shot into being before him. This time, though, there was a Republic cruiser next to it, hovering like a guard. Anakin brought his fighter up beside it and within moments had received permission to board.

"Master Skywalker!" said Amidala warmly, coming up to greet him. "I'm so glad you could come."

"I'm honored that you thought of me, Chancellor," said Anakin, bowing. Privately, he wasn't surprised at all.

Amidala's cumbersome robes of state were gone, and in their place hung a light sheath of silk, light blue. Anakin wondered whether her dismissal of formal dress was common for her when meeting privately with someone; it seemed out of character for her. Her hair was twisted loosely at the back of her head, of which she gave Anakin a full view while leading him to the cockpit. It was empty except for them.

"The pilot is below deck," said Amidala. "I gave him a few hours off."

Anakin smiled. "You read my thoughts, answering a question before I asked it," he said. "Perhaps you should be the Jedi of the two of us."

It was a silly thing to say, not deserving of a response, but Amidala's head ducked, and Anakin could have sworn he saw her blush again. Unsure of himself, he moved toward the viewport, through which he could see clearly the battle station below.

"When will the detonation be?" he asked, and to his relief Amidala came to stand beside him, her calm regained.

"The supervisor has been giving me regular updates over the comm channel. I think in half an hour they should be ready."

For a while they simply stood there, side by side, silent. Then he heard Amidala sigh.

"So this is the thing that killed Naboo."

"That," Anakin said, "and Grievous, and Dooku, and Palpatine. Nothing in itself is evil, milady; it is only people that twist it to be so."

"More Jedi wisdom?" asked Amidala, the corner of her mouth turning into a smile. Anakin, unable to find an answer to this, only nodded.

"I feel I owe you an apology long overdue," Amidala said after a moment. "For when you exposed Palpatine for what he was. I recall being…less than accepting toward you, and your accusations at the time."

"It's not necessary, Chancellor," Anakin reassured her.

"This is my fault," Amidala whispered, as though she hadn't heard him, and Anakin knew she was thinking of her loved ones on Naboo, gone forever. "Was I so blind, unable to see what was in front of me for all those years?"

"The Sith are masters of deception," Anakin said, wanting to make her feel better. "If they hide something, you cannot see it even if it is right in front of you."

"Perhaps you're right," she murmured. "But I was willing to be blinded. I wanted to see nothing but goodness in him. I—" Amidala hesitated, wavering on the brink of saying something. "I have often wished that—that I were able to wield the Force. I have spent my whole life searching for truth and justice, but find them always hidden behind greed and lies and selfishness. The Jedi—it seems to me that they have a clearer path toward what is right."

From the corner of his eye he looked at over her, saw her eyes firmly fixed upon the weapon.

"Chancellor, may I ask you something?"

She turned surprised eyes on him, but behind the surprise Anakin thought she looked pleased. "Of course. Anything."

"How did you get into politics? I know you're a few years older than I, but even so, you began very young. It—" He searched for a way to complete the sentence without sounding condescending or otherwise disapproving. "It seems like a harsh life."

Slowly, Amidala nodded. Pondering his question, she slipped into a chair nearby, and Anakin followed suit. "It is harsh," she agreed. "I was only fourteen when I was elected Queen of Naboo. Our leaders have always been young—we believe that the innocence of children allows them to rule without tyrannical temptations or aspirations of power." She smiled wryly. "Of course, there is no quicker way to rob a child of her innocence than to place her in such a situation."

"You are stronger than I would have thought, Chancellor," said Anakin. "I couldn't have survived that. Politics seems futile to me. Nothing is ever decided, nothing is won. You're lucky to get a compromise, and even then someone will cheat you out of it." It occurred to him a second too late that Amidala held all of these things very dearly. "I—I'm sorry," he said, chagrined.

"Don't be," Amidala reassured him. "In some ways, I confess you're right. Politics is a much more delicate and hard-fought game than using a lightsaber to end a debate. When everyone wants something different, it's very hard to get your own way."

"It's not something I could do," Anakin admitted. "I've found people listen to you better if you've got a weapon at their throat."

For the first time, Amidala smiled and showed her teeth. "I know," she said. "Perhaps you thought I forgot, Master Skywalker, but I remember when we found you on Tatooine, when you were just Ani. You always did speak with your actions, even then."

Embarrassed, Anakin looked down. "It's a hard habit to break. I should—"

Amidala gasped. "Oh, I didn't mean—no! I admire that in you! And I could never forget that you were the one who saved my homeworld from the Trade Federation."

"Yes…" Anakin hesitated. "I'm just sorry that I couldn't save it again."

A wave of sorrow rose behind her eyes, and Anakin couldn't restrain a question. "Milady, are you—all right?"

She frowned, as though thinking very hard. "I am," she said at last, "but…it is a very hard thing, to know that your homeworld is gone, everyone that you grew up with and loved."

"I understand."

Amidala looked at him. "Do you ever miss your mother still?" she asked him.

"Yes," said Anakin, thinking also of a new loss, fresh in his heart and still bleeding.

"Then you understand how I feel."

"Yes," said Anakin again. "It feels like—like a part of your heart is missing. Like, even if you grow to love someone or something again, you can never give them all of yourself. Like you're walking around broken inside, and no one can tell the difference by looking at you."

Now it was Amidala's turn to look at him in wonder and breathe the word, "Yes. Yes; and it is so lonely."

There, Anakin shrugged. "You, Chancellor—I could understand your loneliness. Grievous took your family and your home from you. But Jedi are used to standing alone."

Her lips parted, bright red, as Amidala leaned forward. "But don't you ever feel lonely, Anakin?" she asked him. "Don't even Jedi wish sometimes for a shoulder to share their burdens, and a sympathetic ear?"

Something in her tone made Anakin's senses jump, quivering, to attention. There was something, something that he could feel in the Force but didn't quite understand, and that unnerved him. When he finally opened his mouth to answer, he was interrupted by a voice crackling over the comm.

"Your Excellency, everything is in place," said the demolitions supervisor. "I've already ensured that every last one of my men is safely off that thing, but could you have the Jedi double-check?"

Anakin could sense Amidala's frustration at being interrupted, but it didn't show in her manner at all as she smiled at him and asked, "You don't mind, do you?"

"Oh—no, of course not." Standing, Anakin moved toward the window. The whole exchange had confused him, something he wasn't used to, but practiced as he was, it took him only a few short seconds to forget what had happened, where he was, and send all of himself down to Grievous' weapon.

"There's no life there," Anakin said after a moment, jerking his thoughts back into the Republic cruiser. "It's safe to blow."

"Whenever you're ready," said Amidala over the comm.

There were a few seconds then in which both Anakin and Amidala thought that the message hadn't been heard; perhaps it should be repeated. Then without warning the weapon exploded in a burst of fire and light and sound, and the cruiser, caught in the shock waves of the detonation, gave a great lurch, feeling precariously close to tipping over.

Amidala shrieked, and the lights around them flickered. Anakin's feet firmly planted, he grabbed for her a second before she lost her balance and fell to the steeply-slanted floor. He could hear the high-pitched _ping!_ noises as hundreds of pieces of shrapnel bombarded the ship, and instinctively held Amidala against him tighter.

His ears were ringing in a very distracting manner; it was a moment before he realized that the ship had righted itself and the shrapnel noises had stopped. And there was a voice coming over the comm, a man's voice, panicked.

"Chancellor, are you all right? Please come in!"

"She's fine," Anakin answered loudly, at the same time that Amidala called, "I'm okay!"

An audible sigh of relief could be heard through the channel. "Oh thank the Force," said the man. "Chancellor, I'm so sorry—I did all the calculations, I thought you would be safe at that distance! There must have been some explosives we didn't know about onboard that thing. I'm so sorry, I'll never forgive myself if you're hurt—"

"I'm all right," Amidala said again. "It was an honest mistake."

Stammering apologies, the supervisor left the comm channel. Anakin was still breathing heavily; his instincts had been honed to such a fine point over the years that anything sudden or out of the ordinary put him in battle mode, like a cat intuitively arching its back and flaring its fur. He realized suddenly that he was still holding Amidala tightly in his arms.

Looking down at her he opened his mouth to apologize. Then his gaze caught hers. Amidala said nothing; her cheeks were flushed pink, and her eyes were bright. A strand of hair that had fallen out of place now curved delicately around her ear. In an instant Anakin understood why she had asked him to come here today.

With the coolness of a professional he let go of her waist. "I have other duties at the Temple, milady," he said, straightening. "May the Force be with you." His cloak flapped around his ankles as he turned and walked away from her. He only got halfway to the airlock before a hand on his arm and a voice stopped him.

"Anakin, _please_—!"

It was the desperation in her voice that gave him pause, an urgency that he could feel through the Force as well as hear. Anakin turned to see her standing before him.

"Don't go. Please don't go," she said, looking up at him. In her gaze Anakin could see everything she wanted to tell him, everything she wanted to ask. Compassion overwhelmed him; the loneliness he felt within her was a deep ache. Her slight frame had not been made to bear the burden now upon it, and she had no one—no one—to hold her when she cried.

"The Jedi are called to higher things," Anakin said softly. "What you want from me, I cannot give. Padmé—" He had never called her by her first name before. "You are the most courageous woman I have ever met. You have things in you that make me believe that goodness and beauty have some hope in this universe. And when your troubles grow too great for you to bear—because I know that they do—I hope that you will come to me, as a friend."

Gently he lifted her hand to his lips. "Milady," he murmured.

Just before he turned to go, he heard her whisper, "Thank you."


	55. Everything Will Be All Right

The next time Anakin saw the Chancellor was a week later.

Drin and a young man named Kolban whom Anakin had not met personally were being briefed for an upcoming mission to Orest 6. Since Grievous' treachery, government was in disarray and riots were breaking out in the streets. Jedi had been requested in the capacity of peace-keepers.

Anakin, bored, was surreptitiously picking at a snag in the fabric of his chair. This mission had nothing to do with him, so he was only here for the sake of the meeting, and the fact that Amidala had promised to contact them today.

"And have you decided when you will leave?" Ki-Adi-Mundi asked.

"We were planning to leave today," Drin answered, "but as you know no ships will be available until two days from now, so—"

Just then the holo-projector started beeping, indicating an incoming transmission.

"That must be the Chancellor," said Windu. Drin and Kolban moved to leave the room, but Windu waved them back. "Stay," he said. "We will continue in a moment."

"Thank you for your time," Amidala said as soon as the hologram popped up. "This won't take long; I only wanted to make sure you were up to date on Alliance matters."

"We appreciate it," said Windu.

"As you know, we have been hoping to establish another peace agreement, since Grievous' was voided by his treachery," Amidala said. "I and several other Senators met with the Alliance emissaries today for the last time, and the treaty was finalized. They also made a formal apology to the Republic for Grievous' actions."

"At last approaching, peace is," said Yoda softly.

Amidala nodded, her political veneer breaking as she smiled. "The Republic is finally in true amity with the Alliance," she said.

"Is there anything else, Chancellor?" Windu asked her.

"Just one thing, Master Jedi," Amidala said. She coughed, and smoothed out her dress. "As you know, the Alliance prefers a central government, over all its planets. They want representatives of their own planet's interest to be heard, of course, but they have asked for a single, trustworthy leader to take charge, especially in these troubled times."

"They have _asked_?" Windu repeated.

A look of amusement played across Amidala's face for a moment. "The Alliance has requested a Jedi to lead them."

Before the Jedi Masters lost their stunned silences, Amidala hastened to speak. "I understand that this is impossible," she assured them, "but I didn't feel that it was my prerogative to tell them so. I told them that I would relay their message, and that you would contact them tomorrow with your answer."

"I thank you for your discretion," said Windu finally. "Such a thing, of course, cannot be done. Jedi do not aspire to positions of power."

"I understand—but it would be best if you told them yourself."

With a few more pleasantries the transmission was finished. Windu turned back to Drin and Kolban and apologized for the interruption.

"So you'll be leaving in two days?"

"Yes, as soon as possible."

"Excellent."

Master Mundi inclined his head toward the holo-projector. "The Chancellor's recent message indicates that the Jedi are perhaps not so disliked on Orest 6 as we had suspected. However, caution is still advisable."

"Of course," said Drin, bowing.

"I think that's all the business we have for today," said Windu. "Anakin, if you'll talk with the Alliance tomorrow, that should take care of everything."

The Council adjourned only moments afterward, for which Anakin was grateful. All day he had been waiting for some time of his own, and now that he had it he knew exactly where to go. Ordinarily the library wasn't a place where Anakin willingly spent his free time, but this was a special case.

"Master Nu?"

The white-haired librarian looked up at him with a look of faint suspicion. Jocasta Nu had been librarian at the Temple for decades, long enough to remember the days when Anakin's only purpose for coming here was to cause trouble and make noise.

"Can I help you find something, Master Skywalker?" she asked him.

"I'm looking for lightsaber designs—historic, maybe—or something more current…" It occurred to Anakin suddenly that he didn't know anything his plans for his future lightsaber—all he knew was that he needed one. Fortunately, Jocasta Nu seemed to know what she was doing. Bending over a computer console, she soon had a list of designs available on the screen.

"This is what we usually show Padawans who are building their first lightsaber," she told Anakin, pointing as he sat down at the console. "But I've opened up a few extra files that you might be interested in."

Anakin thanked her and began browsing, while the librarian left to attend to other things. At first he was even a little bit excited; after all, it wasn't every day that you were able to make such an important weapon. But page after page scrolled down, and the further Anakin got the more he found himself missing his old lightsaber. He'd barely even looked at the blueprints then; he'd simply built it, choosing every piece as if he'd always known it would go there.

He gave up, after almost an hour of searching. His lightsaber was nowhere to be found in the archives—those designs belonged to someone else, fit to another's hand.

Tomorrow, he promised himself, after the Alliance meeting, he would go to Ilum.

* * *

He was awakened the next morning by a pounding on the door. 

Anakin, still dreaming, thought for a moment that the knocking was his sleep couch yelling at him in a language only furniture could understand. When lucidity returned to his brain, he stumbled toward the door and answered it. Drin was standing there.

Anakin blinked. "Do you know what time it is?"

"I'm sorry," said Drin, looking downcast. "I knew you were meeting with the Alliance sometime this morning, and I had to catch you before then."

"Okay." Moving aside, he allowed Drin entrance. Before anything else happened he grabbed his tunic from the back of a chair and pulled it on. Drin sat down. Anakin was awake enough now to notice that his former student wore an unusual expression on his face—like guilt, but without any wrong-doing.

"What's going on?" Anakin asked.

"I need to talk to you."

"So I gathered."

Drin looked faintly embarrassed. "About what the Chancellor said yesterday."

"You mean, the peace agreement?"

"No…about a Jedi leading the Alliance." He gave an awkward little cough. "I, um—I want to go."

At first Anakin didn't believe what he was hearing. It was a minute before he said anything. "You want to go to Orest 6 and—and lead the Alliance?" he asked incredulously. "Drin, are you serious?"

Drin took a big breath. "I know it sounds crazy, but—"

"It's ridiculous!"

"Just give me a chance to explain!"

Anakin was looking at him with the disbelief of someone who's seen a loved one gone mad. "Leave the Order—that's what you want to do?"

"No!" Drin protested. "I mean—Anakin, please listen to me."

The news had startled Anakin, but he was slowly regaining rationality. With a great sigh he sat down. "Just tell me, then," he said.

Drin's lips pressed together. "I can't explain it," he said, shaking his head. "But I heard her say it, and something inside me—rang. Like a bell. And it kept ringing, until that was all I could hear. This isn't something I've just come up with out of nowhere—I've been up all night, thinking about it. Anakin, the Force wants me to do this."

A million objections rose up in Anakin's mind, but something in Drin's face kept them silent. All he could say was, "Why?"

"Look, I know—" Drin shrugged uncomfortably. "I know I haven't exactly been the Council's favorite over the years. I've been stupid. You know that, too. But that's why. I know what it feels like to—to need redemption, and forgiveness."

Anakin shook his head, grasping at straws, trying to understand. "What you did is in the past. You don't need to atone for past wrongs."

"I know that," said Drin, as though it were the most obvious thing in the world. "But I can do something with them."

Whether it was an epiphany of the Force or the sleep finally leaving his mind, Anakin understood then. Drin knew, as few Jedi did, the dangerous fall from grace that the Alliance had experienced, because he had lived it first-hand. Both had misplaced their trust; both had nearly lost everything because of their mistakes, and both had, in time, returned to the light.

All Anakin could think to say was, "You won't be a Jedi anymore."

"Yeah," Drin agreed quietly. "That'll take some getting used to."

"I'll have to talk to the Council. They'll need to know."

Drin looked up. "So you're all right with this?" he asked eagerly.

Anakin didn't know how to reply. "I don't want you to go," he admitted at last. "But I trust you."

* * *

Left alone after Drin had gone, Anakin's thoughts were a confused mess. He hadn't expected anyone to step up, let alone Drin, let alone with such maturity. It almost frightened him, to think how things had changed. But in the part of his stomach that usually hurt when he was worried, there was no tightness. Something within him refused to fear, as though the Force were whispering to him, "You see, my son? There is a plan."

At last, when dawn was breaking over Coruscant, Anakin went to Windu's room. The Master was already awake, so deep in meditation that he didn't sense Anakin's presence until Anakin spoke.

"I found someone to lead the Alliance," Anakin said to Windu's back, figuring it was best to get it all out at once. "Drin Audris."

For a moment, Windu didn't even seem to hear. Then he stood and turned, his brow darkening over his eyes. "Drin Audris?" he repeated. "Anakin, do you realize what you're saying?"

"Yes," said Anakin simply. "And it's all right. Don't worry. Everything's all right."

Strange, how true that felt.


	56. Epilogue

It was night.

Hours past midnight, Anakin was still awake, his hands working feverishly. He could feel it emerging from the smooth pieces of metal and blank-faced gems, and though his body wanted sleep, his mind wanted this more. One last weld; smooth down the edges once more; there.

There. Setting down the tools, Anakin let his eyes rest for a moment. He had been busy for hours, rushing toward the end, but now that it was completed he had all the time in the world. Almost tenderly, he reached out and wrapped his hand around the cool metal hilt. His fingers explored the unfamiliar surface, probing against every indent and line. Every sensation felt right; it fit in his hand as though born there.

He pressed a button and the blue blade shot out, burning for the first time. This one was longer than his first. The balance was different, but better. He deactivated the lightsaber, rolled it in his palm, and then clipped it to his belt, satisfied.

He turned to go back to his rooms.

Anakin.

He froze; his head jerked up like a dog catching a scent. He had heard his own name—but how could you hear something that wasn't a sound?

_Anakin._

It was strange, and yet so familiar that it frightened him. Anakin found himself running, with footsteps that echoed against the empty hallways, until he was outside, standing on a balcony that overlooked Coruscant. The air would clear his head, he thought numbly.

The sky was dark, and looked so delicate that it would shatter if you touched it. The moon was only a sliver now, and the clouds at the edge of the horizon were few and far between. Far below the terrace the lights of Coruscant stretched as far as the eye could see, twinkling and moving, like a glittering necklace suspended in air.

_Anakin._

The wind was blowing strongly, almost harsh in its ministrations as it played havoc with Anakin's cloak and hair. His breathing ragged, Anakin gulped, and dared to answer.

"Obi-Wan?"

Nothing.

No feeling.

No sound.

And then the wind, which till now had been pounding roughly at him, stilled almost instantly, until it was almost a caress.

_I'm here._

Anakin gasped, and tears sprang to his eyes. So shocked, he sank to his knees.

"I thought you'd left me," he whispered.

The wind grew a little, playful.

_I couldn't leave you. _Anakin could have sworn he heard a chuckle. _Force knows the trouble you'd get into._

There was a warmth in the back of Anakin's mind, growing, comforting. This was a feeling worlds apart from those seven years, worlds different from cold, lonely separation. Somewhere, Anakin found the strength to stand.

_I'm here,_ he heard again.

The wind was back to its blustery, mindless self. Once more, Anakin hardly heeded it. He was looking over the balcony railing into the darkness, seeing not Coruscant but something far greater. Smiling, he stayed there until dawn.

The transformation of Anakin Skywalker was complete.

_THE END_

* * *

**Author's Note: Wow, I can't believe it's over. You know how long I've been working on this thing? About two and a half year. When you're only 17, that's a long time.  
**

**Thank you to everyone who reviewed, especially those faithful few who took the time every update to tell me what they thought. You guys are the reason that this story wasn't lazily abandoned like everything else I write. Never leave me. :-) Oh, and a humongous thanks to Eruvyweth, my beta, best friend, and fervent Drin fan.**

**Okay, enough of that. I sound like I've just received an Academy Award. Thanks again for making this fun, guys!  
**


End file.
